


this heart that loved you so well, I cannot close to you

by janie_tangerine



Series: conventions and inconveniences of the stage [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Lot Of People Are Done TM, Acting, Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Opera Singers, Childhood Friends, Classical Music, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Jon Snow/Ygritte, Minor Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Music, Operas, Robb Stark is a Gift, Self-Indulgent, Singing, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-04-22 18:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14314206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: in which everyone's involved in Tywin's opera company.In this episode: Robb and Theon find out things about themselves they hadn't quite realized while stagingDon Carlo. Hopefully it's going to go better than the last time that same company staged it, twenty-odd years before.





	1. Orchestra Tuning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TotemundTabu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/gifts).



> OH MY GOD GET READY FOR THE LONGEST NOTES EVER.
> 
> So: my lovely recipient had throbb + OPERA SINGERS AU in his request. I, uh, might have been planning the opera au for *years* (this is actually _one_ thing I wanted to do, I have ideas for at least another five things set in this verse if I can manage), which means I jumped on that train very gladly so, THANKS FOR INDULGING ME WITH THIS man I HOPE YOU LIKE IT. (Also JonC wasn't supposed to be in it THIS much but what can I do.)
> 
> (I feel like everyone has guessed the author at this point, but never mind.)
> 
> That said, for anyone who doesn't want to go google search for this, I'm gonna provide notes/links to the music in each chapter. For now, what you need to know is that they're staging Verdi's [_Don Carlo_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don_Carlos), ie TRAGEDIES WHY NOT, in the Italian four-acts version (if anyone cares for that info). What do you need to know about the plot: Carlo (protagonist, son of king Philippe II of Spain) is in love with Elisabetta, his father's wife who was supposed to be *his* future wife. His father does not appreciate. His best friend Rodrigo (or, as you will find, most-likely-not-just-best-friend) tries to convince him to go to the Flanders to fight for its independence (from Philippe). Countess Eboli is a noblewoman in love with Carlo who Does Not Appreciate that he's in love with someone else. IT'S A TRAGEDY. IT GOES BADLY. There, that's everything you need to know about the plot. ;)
> 
> Other than that, I'm going to list the voice types I put everyone in at the end if anyone's interested. There's some of the original Italian in this because reasons, but I translated all the relevant parts and more so if you choose to actually listen to the music while reading, don't worry if I link you versions without subs because I already translated everything in the fic already.
> 
> Finally: nothing belongs to me (ffffff I wish) and they're all GRRM's, all the mentioned opera is now hopefully public domain but sure as hell I don't own that either and I only own the plot and my utter love for dumb tropes where people figure shit out through acting. I HOPE IT'S GOOD AND I DON'T BORE ANYONE /o\

 

_“Come on,” Theon says, “this isn’t half as bad as your usual schtick.”_

_Robb rolls his eyes as he glances down at the score._

_“Says the one who can sing whatever he wants, mostly,” Robb sighs. It’s not that he envies Theon for it, after all_ he _was the one noticing that he actually had a lovely singing voice when they were teenagers and_ he _was the one encouraging him to take singing classes along with him and Jon, and he’s never going to regret it, not when it means they get to work together most times and if not to see each other regularly and when it’s obvious that Theon is born for both singing_ and _acting, regardless of what his asshole of a father thinks._

 _Still, he’s really damned tired of singing dramas where at the end everyone fucking dies just because people couldn’t talk to each other most times. He_ hates _dramas, for that matter. Fuck if he wouldn’t pay to switch roles with Jon for a week, but_ no _, his brother had to end up suited for comedies when he actually fucking_ loves _drama._

 _Though at least they’re in this together, so there’s a silver lining. Not that they’ll sing_ Don Carlo _on stage before some years pass, but Luwin said they were ready to at least learn the part, so here they are, sitting on Robb’s bed and trying to make sense of the score._

 _“Anyway,_ fine _, it’s less bad than the usual schtick, if anything because I’m not singing an asshole. I mean, he’s an idiot, but he’s not an asshole. Okay, he has more issues than usual, but never mind.”_

_“That said,” Theon says, looking at his own part, “is it just me or these two aren’t really, like, just friends?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Have you_ read _this? I mean, fuck’s sake, never mind that you don’t call your best friend_ mine _just before asking_ is it you that I’m holding to my breast _, but then he asks himself if Heaven sent his_ consoling angel _to him? Seriously?”_

 _Robb pays better attention at the libretto - for now he just focused on his own arias, but fair enough,_ that _does sound a bit suspicious._

 _“Wait a moment, is your character calling mine_ beloved prince _? Just before asking him to_ share his tears and his heart _? Jesus, that’s the least heterosexual thing I ever ran into since I started doing this job for real.”_

 _“Considering what’s our job, that’s saying a lot, but - wow. I mean,_ my savior, my brother, my trusted friend, let me cry against your breast _? Sounds like the nineteenth century wasn’t big on toxic masculinity,” Theon snorts. “And wait, my character is supposed to be horribly upset when he learns_ yours _is in love with his stepmother?”_

 _“Given that a moment later yours says that_ he still loves mine _, I guess he doesn’t care.”_

 _Theon nods as he reads on - he obviously also only had read_ his _own parts before, not the duet. Then his eyes go wide. “Wait a moment,[we swear to live and die together and God’s own favor will join us in Earth and Heaven? We’ll live and die together](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOq4wD0HoA4)_ _? Well, fuck, then_ my _death scene takes an entire other meaning.”_

 _“What do you mean?” Robb hadn’t even read that far, but Luwin just told them to come back next week with a vague idea of what they were singing and_ one _piece ready, not the entire thing, and it’s_ long _._

 _“Wait, let me find it.” Theon goes through the score quickly until he stops someplace near three quarters of the entire tome. “Here it is. So basically, my guy has just gotten himself killed to get your guy out of jail and he’s dying in his arms, which I suppose is fair, but just listen here -_[the last day has come for me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYqIhOYwHVA) _or something like that_ , we shall never see each other again, may God join us in Heaven, He who rewards his faithful men, _blah blah blah,_ I see tears in your eyes, why would you cry so? No, be happy, the last breath is joyful for the one who dies for you? _Come on. Come on, he’s totally in love with your guy.”_

 _Robb finds the same place in the score and as he looks at the rest, he wants to ask,_ seriously _?_

 _“What -_ a new golden century shall be born under your reign, you had to reign and I was supposed to die for you _? What the fuck, you’re right. And wait - oh, shit, they hold hands as he dies? What -_ a brotherly bond joined us _? Brotherly my arse,” he mutters. “What,_ he loved me _? Fuck. No, you’re right. No way these two are just_ friends _.”_

 _“Admittedly,_ your _guy doesn’t seem to have grasped it fully,” Theon snorts._

_“Shit, now I know why Jon Connington’s refused to sing this in the last two decades,” Robb mutters._

_“Wait, didn’t he do it with -_ ”

 _“Jon’s father? Yes. Just before Jon was born, I think. And you_ know _he was in love with that arse, not that Rhaegar’s ever figured it out.”_

_“… Well, fuck his life,” Theon agrees. “Sounds like something I wouldn’t want to go through, either. That said, it’s a cool death. I’d love to actually sing it for real.”_

_“I’d hate it_ less _than singing anything else in my bloody repertoire,” Robb mutters. “Well, let’s just hope we get to do it together one day.”_

 _Theon grins, one of his rare,_ true _smiles that he usually doesn’t give to anyone bar the audience and a few selected people._

_“I’d like that, Stark. I really would,” he replies, and he sounds like he means it._

_Good, because Robb means it, too, and he would_ really _like to sing with Theon in_ anything _where they’re friends and not rivals, for once_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll link them again in the next chapters, but the pieces mentioned in this part are (both from Don Carlo):
> 
> \- [dio che nell'alma infondere](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOq4wD0HoA4) [act I duet, in this clip with jonas kaufmann as carlo and boaz daniel as rodrigo, thanks bayerische staatsoper];  
> \- [per me giunto è il dì supremo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYqIhOYwHVA) [act III, aria, giorgio zancanaro as rodrigo and luis lima as carlo, thanks ROH].


	2. Ouverture

 

The conference room is half-empty when Tyrion walks inside it, five minutes after the agreed upon time, with Sam Tarly and Gilly trailing behind him bringing most of the papers he _knows_ he won’t manage to read anyway.

Especially because _half_ of the people who should be here are _not_ \- shit, they have to discuss the new season and half of the singers don’t show up? Sometimes he wonders whether they _would_ if his father actually was the one talking to them, but no, his father just owns the theater and provides the money and dumped on _him_ handling finances and running things in general.

Then again, _maybe_ it’s a good thing that other than not being much palatable for stages thanks to his height, he always was absolutely and completely off key when it came to singing, which meant that at least _he_ was spared years of voice training and learning languages and how to read music without even having a choice, and neither Jaime nor Cersei weren’t as lucky.

(That said, they’re good at it and Cersei certainly enjoys the job if not for the fact that she didn’t settle into the right voice for most lead roles while Jaime _did_ and she somehow managed to make him feel _guilty_ about it for years, and good thing that she didn’t completely made him fall out of love with singing or he’d have been even more miserable than he was until he realized that he didn’t have to tie his own roles to _hers_.

Well, good thing that this year Tyrion’s made sure that they aren’t singing anything together.)

He clears his throat as he sits behind the desk.

Ned and Catelyn Stark plus her brother Edmure and their kids are all here (Jon if you count him as one, but every time someone reminds him that his biological father is named Targaryen he stops talking to you for a month, so _everyone_ does by now. Then again, he _did_ grow up with Ned’s family, so it makes sense), which he’s not surprised about - as much as they’re employing entire families here, they’re the only ones who _always_ show up without anyone missing. _Of course_ , Ned Stark’s brother isn’t here, nor his sister, but _Ned_ and _Cat_ are the ones who take their job seiously, after all.

He hadn’t even counted on Rhaegar Targaryen to show up, for that matter - when it comes to him and Ned’s sister, you’re better off just contacting them privately these days. Jaime is here and Cersei is, too, but _of course_ Joffrey’s not, he could never be bothered to fucking _show up at meetings_ , and Jaime’s sitting on the other side of the room, next to Brienne Tarth - which does _not_ surprise Tyrion, not after that drama that went down when all three of them were in _Aida_ last year. He’s fairly sure that his brother and Brienne are merely dancing around each other at this point, which means at least _they_ will be happy about what’s coming up for them next season, and given that he’s started _not_ feeling guilty about whatever roles he couldn’t share with his sister since they hired Tarth, Tyrion is not going to complain either.

Jon’s girlfriend Ygritte is sitting next to him and her uncle Tormund next to her, another couple who at least shows up to meetings, but _of course_ the only Baratheon in the room is _Stannis_ , who’s the bloody _main conductor_ and already knows the schedule - shit, why has all the reliability in that family gone into _one_ person? Unless you count Gendry, right, but that kid was pretty much raised by Stannis anyway, and why couldn’t his father and uncle be bothered? He doesn’t want to know, but Loras Tyrell is here, his sister is not and Renly’s not, so he supposes he’s here for both of them. Theon and Asha Greyjoy are there, and at least they’re the only two in their family who are employed here - Tyrion is fairly sure their father doesn’t approve of having _two_ children in opera, and he only tolerates Asha being in it because she _directs_ and doesn’t sing, but never mind that. At least they _did_ show up and Theon is born for it, and he knows it, so he tends to not care, for everyone’s good. Jon Connington is here, but none of Rhaegar’s other friends are. Jeyne Poole and Jeyne Westerling are here, as well, and none of the latter’s relatives. _Great_.

At least all three stage directors - not counting Asha, there’s Oberyn and Mance - are also here. And that’s about everyone.

So, he’s missing: Brandon Stark, Lyanna Stark, Rhaegar plus Dany and Viserys, _obviously_ , if one of them isn’t here then the others won’t be either, Arthur and Ashara Dayne, Cat’s sister, Joffrey and Myrcella, Arianne and Quentyn Martell, Robert, Renly and Margaery Tyrell out of the people who should have _main_ roles, of course all the Westerlings bar Jeyne (who’s about the only reliable one except for her brother, most times), Bronn (and he’s supposed to be Tyrion’s _friend,_ Tyrion needs to give him a lecture on showing up on time), Barbrey Dustin, Roslin Frey, and Jorah Mormont isn’t here, either, but at least he _warned_ him that he couldn’t because he caught a stomach bug and felt poorly. Also, Jon Arryn, but he also was feeling sick, plus Taena Merryweather ( _why_ does Cersei convince their father to hire her friends from singing classes back in the day when she knows they won’t show up, _why_?), and of course Elia Martell, but the poor woman has reasons to want to avoid cluttered meetings and she never quite made up with Rhaegar, so she’s excused.

Well, great, he’ll have to do with the people he has.

He clears his throat.

“Ladies, gentlemen, I see that half of you are going to have to report to eventual friends, relatives and significant others what’s going to be said in this meeting, so I’ll try to be as clear as it goes. Now, first things first: we’re opening mid-October, rehearsals start mid-September as in two weeks from now, for _everyone_ who goes on stage up unti March _at least_ , and who does later should better learn their roles or revise them because for this year we have good news and bad news and you _all_ have to step up.”

“Let me guess,” Jaime says, “we’re in the red again, aren’t we?”

Tyrion _loves_ his brother, dearly, but sometimes he wishes he could wait before speaking. “Actually, _no_ , for once, and that’s half of the entire point. This has been the first year in the last fifteen or so where we ended up _even_. Which means that _this_ one, the powers that be have made me understand that we’d better turn a profit.”

At _that_ , he’s not surprised that everyone in the room turns speechless - good thing that.

_Turning a profit_ has never been a thing in the twenty-five odd years this company has existed, except maybe a couple times in the beginning; the only reason his father has kept on financing is that it looks good on his CV and it makes him look like he’s some kind of cultured patron with an interest in the arts, and because he can give out free seats to his business partners who actually do like opera and aren’t expecting to hear Kaufmann at their small, self-run theater. Still, he never did it thinking he might _earn_ something from it, until this last year.

Tyrion wants to think that the fact that they _might_ actually turn some profit has to do with the fact that _he_ has managed the money and the production schedule in the last five years (because he might not be able to sing but he grew up the way he did, of course he knows his classical music), but never mind that.

“Which means a number of things. First thing first, before Cersei can ask _the same thing she always asks every year_ , no, we’re _not_ doing the _Ring_ , you and Jaime are _not_ playing Siegmund and Sieglinde in _The Valkyrie_ , and we’re not doing any of that cycle _period_ because we don’t have the money, we don’t have the sets, we don’t have most of the right voices _including you_ and no one would fucking pay for fifteen hours of Wagner either non-stop or not, and it would eat up half of the season.”

“You don’t understand art,” Cersei mutters.

“And I hate Wagner,” Jaime shouts from the other side of the room.

_All_ the foreheads belonging to anyone named Stark in the room meet the respective owner’s palms.

Tyrion can _entirely_ understand them.

“Well, Wagner is _not_ happening because we have to _turn a profit_ or at least we need to keep on not being in the red and Wagner does _not_ bring profits. Which means, we’re doing _two_ new productions with not so well-known titles and for the rest we have to cash in.”

“Great,” Robb groans, “does that mean I have to sing most of the Verdi that you can manage to dump into the list?”

Tyrion almost wants to laugh - the poor kid and his brother did draw bad straws when it came to voices. Robb _hates_ dramas and he has the perfect tenor voice for _heavy_ roles, Jon hates comedies and he _didn’t_ take after his biological father, which means he has the perfect tenor voice for the exact opposite genre, and it’s kind of funny to think about it. Then he thinks of all the drama that Ned and Cat must have stomached while those two grew up and argued about who had it worse - honest, they _still_ argue about it and they’re in their almost mid-twenties - and thinks back on it.

“Sorry, yes,” Tyrion says apologetically, “but not _all_ the Verdi is yours this round.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Robb proclaims.

“ _Right_ ,” Tyrion says. “I’m going to list you everything we’re doing. The choice of operas is _not_ under discussion. The choice of roles is not, either, but you can try if you feel like it. Now, we need some three comedies at least, and we need them to be a sure bet.”

“Oh, _no_ ,” Jon groans.

“The good news for _you_ ,” Tyrion laughs, “is that you’re _not_ doing _La Fille du Regiment_ again, because your sister and Gendry are doing it.”

“Wait,” Arya says, “ _me and Gendry_? But -”

“You two both aced it in rehearsals last year and it’s high time you debut for real instead of just singing background roles. You and Gendry are doing it in January.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Jon huffs, “I _hate_ it.”

“The _bad_ news for you,” Tyrion keeps on, wishing he wasn’t feeling amused knowing that Jon will straight up hate what he’s about to say, “is that Oberyn’s production of _L’elisir d’amore_ last year was a total hit, so you and Ygritte are starring in it again. And it’s the second on schedule, in November, so you’d better start rehearsing now.”

“Oh, _no_ ,” Jon says, his cheer all gone.

“Don’t be _that_ dramatic,” Ygritte laughs, “I’ll make sure to kiss you for real at the end.”

“Small consolation,” Jon sighs. “Fine, _fine_ , as if I couldn’t sing that tooth-rotting crap in my sleep.”

“I _wish_ I could sing your tooth-rotting crap,” Robb tells him, punching him lightly in the side.

“Guys,” Tyrion interrupts them, “you can argue about it _later_. Other than that, you two are _also_ doing _Il barbiere di Siviglia_ , and Renly’s doing the title role, if _anyone_ can inform him of that.”

“Oh, I will,” Loras says, brightening up.

Jon looks like he wants to die inside at the prospect, but he knows better than to go there. Good.

“Then, we need at least one Mozart but since from what I gathered this year Brandon has decided to show up whenever he likes -”

“Sorry about that,” Ned says, pained. “He said he’d go to India to find himself. For the fifth time.”

“Of course. Well, since doing _Don Giovanni_ without him is pretty much moot unless he comes back and we can squeeze it in real quick, we’re doing _The Magic Flute_ , with the usual cast.”

“Oh. You mean, same as -” Cat says.

“ _Yes_ ,” Tyrion says, “same as the first one you put up the third year this company was a thing, more or less. We still have the sets, you all still fit in the clothes and we have no time to put on a new one. Rhaegar and Lyanna have the title roles, you and Cat can go back to your roots, Daenerys is the Queen of the Night and Tormund is Sarastro. Fair?”

“Fair,” Cat agrees, smiling, while Tormund also looks plenty pleased with the choice.

Tyrion kind of wishes he had been around to witness those two actually falling for each other while playing Papageno and Papagena back in the day just after Brandon had broken things up with her _and_ decided he couldn’t sing the part anymore and Ned had to step in his place, but alas, he he wasn’t. At least _someone_ is happy with their assignments.

“Also, Cat, you got the light role in that one because you’re doing _Lucia_ later this year. With Rhaegar, if he deigns to do it, and Jeyne Westerling over there plus the Jon you’re _not_ related to.”

She nods - Christ, Tyrion loves that she’s a _professional_. Jeyne looks overjoyed that she’s getting a secondary role but not in the background - ah, if only she _knew_ what they have in store for her. But not yet. Jon Connington looks merely resigned, but then again Tyrion is _not_ giving him roles where he has to play Rhaegar’s friend and he is also a professional person, so he’s not going to complain.

He also can see that Cersei is _seething_ that she hasn’t been told what she’s doing yet and that Cat is already in two titles, and she’s the lead in one of them, while Cersei hasn’t heard nothing about what _she_ is supposed to do yet.

All in due time, he decides.

“Jaime, Brienne, we still haven’t decided yet who else is doing it with you because you’re closing the season, but you’re doing _Fidelio_ in July. You’re with _at least_ Jorah Mormont and Roslin, you’ll know everyone else in a few weeks. ”

The moment he says it, he can see Brienne about wanting to break down in tears of happiness - of course she would, since she auditioned for them singing Leonore and she’s _perfect_ for that part. Jaime smiles to himself for a moment before schooling his face into neutral features again.

“I imagine you have nothing to complain, _good_ ,” he says, noticing that Cersei is still seething. “Now, here we come to the part Robb was dreading.”

“Don’t even tell me,” Robb groans, “we need the money, so we’re doing _at least_ two out of the three famous ones. And _I_ have to lead _Il trovatore_ , and _Cersei_ is Azucena, and Jon over there is doing the count of Luna. And Margaery probably is Leonore. Right?”

“I am afraid you are,” Jon Connington sighs. “God, I hate that role, but fine.”

Tyrion shrugs, apologetically. “I see that you have learned well from the previous five times.”

“Tyrion,” Cersei starts, “I’m _not_ -”

“Cersei, we need the damned money, you have the best voice for that part in this entire troupe and last year it made us more than the next three titles put together, go complain with Father and if _Robb_ can be professional at the ripe age of twenty-three when he hates you and you hate him and he only gets along with Jon over there out of all the entire cast we have decided, and viceversa, you can do the same. In better news for Robb, we’re doing _Rigoletto_ as well, but you’re _not_ singing in it.”

“Oh, _thank fuck_ ,” Robb blurts - then again, everyone in here knows that he _hates_ singing the Duke and that he just did it once before begging them to never put him in that role again.

“For that one,” Tyrion goes on, “Ned, you’re the lead, Bronn is Sparafucile and for the main two - Sansa, you’re Gilda.”

“What - _me_?” She asks in pure delight. “I - oh, that’s _great_ -”

“You did great at rehearsals, too,” Tyrion tells her, “and it’s obvious you’re ready. It’s in March, so just be ready for then, it’s your only main role this season but you’re on for a month and a half.”

“Of course I will,” she goes on, looking so giddy she could burst.

“As far as the Duke goes - Cersei, we discussed it a lot and we _think_ Joffrey might do, but for the love of everything, send him to Luwin’s lessons more than once per week because otherwise he won’t be ready when March rolls by, all right?”

“You don’t have to tell _me_ how my son sings,” Cersei snorts, while Tyrion would like to tell her that _no_ , he has to, because she’s spoiled the kid to hell and back and while he has a good voice and potential, he goes to classes whenever he wants, he _still_ pronounces some words wrong and he doesn’t exercise half as much as he should because he thinks he’s a _natural_. Well, Tyrion just hopes he takes it seriously.

“Never mind. Now, all of these are either old productions or titles that Davos assured me he could stage with minimal money spending - I’m looking at _you_ , Jaime and Brienne, be ready for minimalism. When it comes to _new_ productions, I already said we’re doing two. And it’s the lesser known titles. First, in December, we’re doing _Iphigenia in Tauris_. Renly is Orestes. Loras, you’re Pylades, your sister is Ifigenia, of course. Oberyn has _ideas_ for it, he’ll talk about it to you later. Stannis, _please_ don’t murder them.”

“I’ll try,” Stannis grits his teeth while Loras grins as if he just won the lottery. Of course he would. He gets to flirt with Renly for the entire thing, after all.

“Good. Now we need to discuss the season’s opening, and I want you _all_ paying attention here. Because it’s going to be what sells the season to the goddamned critics this year, and it’s the only production our dearest employer has agreed to shell serious money for and - Sam, was it you talking to the talent scouts before?”

“Yes,” Sam says. “After seeing the prospect, _most_ of them decided _that_ is the one they’re attending, so if anyone starring in it wants some extra engagements in the next years other than working here, they’d better be _good_ in it.”

“Thank you. So: it’s Verdi, which is how I hope we’re going to still make some money off it. But it’s _Don Carlo_. Luckily for _you_ , we don’t have the money to hire dancers, which means you get the four-act version without the ballet bits. And that said, now we’re going about the casting.”

As he looks at the rest of the room, he can see that Robb _entirely_ understood what’s his destiny in this production, since _he_ is the only person in the room who can sing the lead. “Robb, you’re Carlo, _obviously_. Theon, you’re Rodrigo, and _yes_ , this decision was also taken knowing you wouldn’t need to act to sell the entire thing, not that anyone thinks you _can’t_ , but we can’t take risks. Jeyne, you’re Elisabetta. _Don’t_ fuck that up.”

At that, Jeyne Westerling looks about to faint for a moment. She obviously didn’t expect it, not when she’s mostly sang either secondary roles or filled in for a few leads who felt sick, but she’s been working hard for years, she does have a lovely voice, she’s friends with both Stark and Greyjoy which means that at least the main trio will _not_ end up throttling each other and she deserves her chance to shine, so she’d better get ready for it.

“ _Then_ , if either Stannis or Loras can bother informing Robert that he’s King Philippe as the last time we staged this, that’d be _lovely_ ,” he says. “Cersei, _please_ do inform Joffrey that before playing lead next year he’s doing both minor tenor roles in this one. And _you_ are Eboli - you and Robert try to keep civil or one of you is out. I don’t want a repeat of the drama that happened the last time this was scheduled. Jorah Mormont is the friar, Jon Arryn is the Great Inquisitor, Roslin is Tebaldo unless anything changes, and Ashara can do the heavenly voice or whatever it was called. For this one, you’re _all_ rehearsing starting as soon as possible. If you all dare fuck it up, you’re fired. Got it?”

“Got it,” Robb says, and good thing Tyrion knows he learned that role even if he never sang it on stage. Theon looks _completely_ floored - he’s been in most productions since he started singing main roles or at least not _background_ ones, but he’s never had such a central role in any production, not yet, too bad because if you ask Tyrion that kid hit the jackpot when it comes to this job - he’s the kind of baritone that can _also_ sing bass if needed and he has a _lovely_ voice on top of that, and at twenty-six going on twenty-seven he sounds like a seasoned professional. Which means, he’s _perfect_ for that role, so he’d better nail it.

Everyone else is nodding along, and Jeyne Westerling is probably the happiest person in the room - of course, it’d be her first lead role. But, again, she’s a hard worker, she has a lovely voice, it’s obvious that she can do it (differently from the _other_ Jeyne, who still needs a year or so doing background before stepping up), and he wants to make sure that at least _some_ of that cast has some sense to them.

“Right,” he says. “Also, no money for countertenor operas this year, but Viserys can do his usual recital, if only I can get to talk to him. Now, let’s go over _everything else_.”

He starts listing who is getting all the minor roles and so on, but he knows that by now no one is paying attention to him.

Fair enough.

He just hopes that they understood that _this season_ they can’t afford any missteps. He would _quite_ like it if they could turn a profit so that his father lets him just do whatever he wants and he can actually afford to put on stage some nice Russian title that he loves listening to for a change, but that wouldn’t automatically make money.

Maybe _one day_ , he thinks wistfully.

Meanwhile, it’ll be good enough if by the time July rolls by they won’t have had any near-murder happening during rehearsals, because if the _Trovatore_ ones go the same as they did last year, he has a feeling Robb and Cersei _might_ really throttle each other.

He _really_ hopes not.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific voice types for everyone, if anyone was wondering:
> 
>   * Ned: baritone
>   * Cat: soprano
>   * Robb: (heavy) tenor
>   * Jon S.: (light) tenor
>   * Sansa: soprano
>   * Arya: soprano
>   * Cersei: contralto [with a v. good extension]
>   * Jaime: (dramatic) tenor
>   * Brienne: (dramatic) soprano
>   * Theon: bass/baritone
>   * Robert: bass
>   * Renly: baritone
>   * Gendry: (light) tenor
>   * Rhaegar: (heavy) tenor
>   * Jon C.: baritone
>   * Lyanna: soprano
>   * Brandon: bass/baritone
>   * Loras: tenor
>   * Margaery: soprano
>   * Arianne: mezzosoprano
>   * Quentyn: baritone
>   * Jeyne W.: soprano
>   * Jeyne P.: (lyric) soprano
>   * Jon Arryn: bass
>   * Jorah: bass
>   * Dany: soprano
>   * Viserys: countertenor
>   * Ygritte: soprano
>   * Bronn: bass
>   * Edmure: bass
>   * Ashara: soprano
>   * Arthur: baritone
>   * Barbrey: soprano
>   * Roslin: (lyric) soprano
>   * Taena: contralto
>   * Elia: soprano
>   * Tormund: bass
>   * Joffrey: light tenor
> 

> 
> Also, if anyone's wondering about the specific titles:
> 
> \- Wagner's _Ring_ is four operas for fifteen hours and Siegmund and Sieglinde are... well, incestuous siblings xD  
>  \- Donizetti's _la Fille du regiment_ and _l'Elisir d'amore_ are basically crack romcoms, the first features a female protagonist who's been adopted by an entire military platoon and has issues re-adapting to a more conventional female role in society after finding out she's born noble (and at the same time it's an obstacle in her love story with the poor guy she fell for), the second features a poor farmer in love with the woman who owns the property and he tries to woo her thanks to a **love elixir**;  
>  \- Mozart's _The Magic Flute_ is basically fairytale turned into opera with both prince and bird-catcher sidekick finding their soulmates, while _Don Giovanni_ is about an unrepentant seducer whose seducing ways catch up with him at some point;  
>  \- Verdi's _Il Trovatore_ is The Most Extra Drama ever; Azucena and Manrico are adopted mother and son except that she did it out of vengeance towards his brother (the Count of Luna) and she's basically out to ruin his life every other moment;  
>  \- I think everyone and their walls know _Rigoletto_ but just in case, deformed court jester works for The Most Horrid Person (the Duke of Mantua) and it ends badly when the duke falls in love with the jester's daughter Gilda;  
>  \- _Fidelio_ is Beethoven's only opera and it features a woman disguising as a man and infiltrating the prison where her husband has been held prisoner for Political Reasons;  
>  \- Donizetti's _Lucia di Lammermoor_ is Tragic Stuff ie, the two protagonists are in love but her asshole brother forces her to marry someone else and she goes insane;  
>  \- Gluck's _Iphigenia in Tauris_ is an adaptation of the Greek myth but tldr: Orestes goes to Tauris and runs into his sister who was presumed dead but flirts with his friend Pylades all the time.
> 
> ... And that was it for this round's notes. u_u


	3. Act I

 

“Are you sure you picked right with those two? Because you both look awkward as hell,” Joffrey says just after Mance stops the two of them in mid-scene, and fuck but one of these days Robb _is_ going to punch that asshole in the face.

“Joffrey,” Mance says before Stannis - who was accompanying them on the piano while obviously wanting to murder _everyone_ in the room bar Davos Seaworth - can put him back in his place for speaking out of turn, “ _you_ are not the one making decisions here and given that at the last rehearsal you managed to go off key twice you really need to practice more and shut your mouth for now. At least neither of them has done _that_ yet.”

Right. Robb _does_ love working with Mance. He doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit, after all.

That said, he _did_ have a point.

“Right,” he says, “Stannis, everyone, take five. I need to discuss a thing with the both of them.”

Everyone else bolts out of the room - Robb figures that after having been here since six in the morning, they were ready to. And they’ll be here until six PM, and who knows if they’ll have gone through at least Act One.

A moment later, he and Theon are left alone with Mance, who’s looking at the both of them alternatively - he does it for some thirty seconds, then he shakes his head.

“Guys, you _know_ your roles. You’re both good at it, you’ve rehearsed it until now and I _know_ you learned it together. Why the hell are you looking so awkward? You’re supposed to be _friends_ , damn it.”

Fair point. _Fair point_. Except that -

“Uhm,” Theon says, “it’s just that - er, do you mind a small, how do I put it -”

“Theon, _you_ have to sing this role. If you disagree about the way I’m putting things, we can discuss it.”

“It’s just,” Robb says, “you did say that we learned it together. I mean, we read it together, too. And, uh, we _did_ have some ideas about our characters.”

“Such as?” Mance asks.

Robb swallows as he thinks back on that afternoon, a couple of years ago, when they were going through the libretto for the first time.

Thing is - since this is _the_ production that has to sell the entire season and the entire point of it, from what Robb gathered, is that they need to make sure people _talk_ about it, Mance hasn’t gone for the usual period setting - now that’d have been too predictable. And it’s not even just _modern_ \- it’s goddamn _post-apocalyptic_ , and Robb just hopes that the sets will sell it when it’s time to. And Mance _has_ spend a fair amount of time at the table readings insisting on the fact that those two developed a _brotherly_ bond.

Except that Mance _hasn’t_ taken fifteen years of Italian classes (and French, _and_ German, and they should start taking Russian next year) just to understand what they’re singing and he’s probably not getting most of the, well, _possible_ subtext. Robb doesn’t even want to know how it was originally meant - what he knows is that after _that_ conversation, he really can’t play this role without assuming that Rodrigo’s in love with Carlo, regardless of whether _his_ character gets it or not.

“Such as,” Theon says, “we both think those two aren’t, er, _brotherly_. I mean, Rodrigo’s definitely _not_ and Carlo’s not… well, putting a stop to it.”

“You mean, you think they’re _lovers_?” Mance asks, and at least he doesn’t sound completely against the idea.

“Not exactly,” Robb sighs. They _did_ discuss it back in the day, going through the _entire_ score, and if he’s never told Theon that he actually figured out that _his_ own feelings towards Theon weren’t entirely _brotherly_ or friendly back _then_ , no one needs to know. “We think that Rodrigo’s in love with Carlo and Carlo - well, he doesn’t _know_ per se but he doesn’t see him as a _friend_ and he realizes it just when Rodrigo dies. Which is why he gets _that_ upset after. And playing them as just - well, _brothers,_ doesn’t really feel right.”

“You mean that when you hugged him before you looked like a piece of wood because -”

“Because I was hugging him the way I’d hug Jon and it felt _completely fucking wrong_ ,” he shrugs. “If you’re really set on that angle we can work on it, I guess, but _that_ was the issue.”

Mance nods thoughtfully, looking at the both of them. “Well, I _hadn’t_ considered this interpretation,” he admits. “But now that you say it - right, I’m calling everyone else back in. Don’t follow any of what I told you before and just do it the way that feels right to you.”

He turns his back on them and Robb lets out a breath, turning towards Theon. “You’re fine with that, right? I didn’t ask, but -”

“Robb,” Theon interrupts him, “ _I_ was the one pointing that out. Those two _totally_ had a thing going on and my father _already_ thinks the worst of me just because I put on make-up before going on stage and the fact that I _sing_ other than _act_ was more than enough to make him presume I was some kind of deviant, and he barely even talks to my sister. It’s not as if he’s going to come to the opening, so what do I even care?”

Sometimes, Robb thinks, he’s _overtly_ glad that Theon actually didn’t listen to his father when it came to do this job _seriously_ and not to just come to his singing or language classes trailing along.

“Good,” Robb says. “Let’s make Joffrey seethe then.”

“And his mother, too, _please_ ,” Theon grins back, and if for a moment he looks maybe slightly pained, Robb decides that it must have been a trick of the light.

A moment later, everyone’s back inside the room, Stannis sitting back at the piano.

“Right,” Mance says, “let’s go back to the beginning. Remember that you’re standing in the middle of a completely abandoned side of the palace, that everything around you is burned and that Theon’s just come back from some hellish journey in order to join you, all right? Play it the way you feel best.”

“What,” Cersei says, “they have better ideas than _the director_?”

“Cersei, shut the hell up already,” Robert groans, and Robb wants to know _why_ Tyrion thought that putting those two in the same production together when they fucking _divorced_ was a good idea.

“You aren’t the director either,” she spits back.

“Oh, _you both_ shut up,” Mance says, “everyone is fallible and _I_ can take bloody suggestions. So, let me see how you’d play it assuming that those two don’t do _brotherly_ feelings and then we can discuss it. Come on. Do it. From _O mio Rodrigo_ up until the end of the duet. All right?”

Right. _Right_. They _did_ discuss it, this previous week, before they knew Mance’s plans. And they _did_ learn this together. They can’t botch it, surely not more than they have until now. They nod. Theon moves to the other side of the room, Stannis sighs and starts playing, and -

Theon about _runs_ at him, singing _it’s him, the king’s son_ , and -

[“Oh mio Rodrigo, sei tu che stringo al seno?”](https://youtu.be/JkObC5kmaKQ?t=4m36s)

_Oh my Rodrigo, is it you, that I’m holding to my breast_?, Robb sings as he pulls Theon to him the way he _would_ if they weren’t - if they _were_ \- if Theon _knew_ that he’s been in love with him for bloody years by now, and it’s _not_ as awkward as it was before, not when Theon’s squeezing back before moving and looking at him in the eyes, calling him _your highness, my prince and lord_.

Robb still grabs at his shoulders as he sings, _it is Heaven that sends you to me in my suffering, consoling angel_?, and if he shudders when a moment later Theon calls him beloved prince, no one probably noticed.

“Ma che vid’io! Quale pallor, qual pena!... Un lampo di dolor sul ciglio tuo balena! Muto sei tu!... Sospiri! Hai tristo il cor! Carlo mio, con me dividi il tuo pianto, il tuo dolor!”

_But what have I just seen? How pale are you, how suffering…? Pain is like lightening in your eyes, you’re sighing, your heart is heavy… my Carlo, share your tears with me, your pain!_

Theon’s singing is with such transport that Robb can barely notice the rest of the room around them, and he sighs as Theon’s hands cup his face just before he throws himself at him again, his face over Theon’s shoulder, as he sings, _my savior, my brother, my loyal friend, let me cry against your bosom_ , and Theon’s voice has _never_ sounded sweeter as he replies back, _pour your cruel torment inside my heart, may your soul not be closed to me_ , and he sounds like he means it entirely, not as awkwardly as before, maybe because now he has a hand on the small of Robb’s back, holding him _closer_.

Robb moves back, nodding, and goes ahead - he sings about loving his mother, of his _guilty_ love, takes in Theon’s horrified reaction, and then -

“Qual pallor, lo sguardo chini al suol… ah, tristo me, tu stesso, o mio Rodrigo, t’allontani da me?”

 _You’re so pale, your eyes are on the ground… oh, wretched that I am, you, oh my Rodrigo, are leaving me?_ He pleads as he sings, and for how much he _hates_ his voice and always will because he can’t sing what he _likes,_ he’s learned to use it, and he _certainly_ can plead, and if he’s thinking of that time he pretty much begged Theon to _not_ listen to his father when it came to what studies he should have pursued after high school, no one has to know, _right_?

“No, no, Rodrigo ancora t’ama, io te l’posso giurar. Soffri? Per me l’universo dispar!”

 _No, no, Rodrigo still loves you, I can swear you. Are you suffering? Then the universe disappears for me_ , Theon quips back, and Robb’s never heard him sounding more sure, and his voice is warm and deep and soft at the same time, fuck but he was _blessed_ with it, and his hands are back on Robb’s face, cupping it tenderly, as he asks if the king hasn’t found out yet. He sings about Carlo leaving with him for the Flanders and leading an oppressed population, Robb sings that he’ll follow as he threads their fingers together, and when Theon almost looks like he could cry, he thinks that he _really_ is a good actor.

He’s mildly aware that Stannis hasn’t stopped them yet, even if he _would_ before, to tell them how to change the intonation or go slower or faster, but they both grasped which tempo he wanted to go with, so - good enough. Because now they have to go into the _proper_ duet.

Theon’s fingers curl around his, their joined hands in between their chests, and at their cue they go together.

“Dio, che nell'alma infondere amor volesti e speme, desio nel core accendere tu déi di libertà -”

 _God, you who wished to instill in our soul love and hope, you have to light up in our hearts desire for freedom_ , they both go at once, Theon’s fingers grasping at his so tight it almost hurts. And as much as Robb hates how his voice sounds, he can’t help being objective about it - he and Theon sound _good_ when they harmonize together, as if their voices were made to slot against each other and blend smoothly and caress each other like calm sea waves on sand, and patience if he wishes it wasn’t as _heavy_ \- at least singing _this_ was absolutely worth it.

“Giuriam insiem di vivere e di morire insieme; in terra, in ciel congiungere ci può la tua bontà.”

 _We swear together that we will live and die together on Earth, and in Heaven your goodness might join us again_ , they finish, before they start again for the second time, and as Stannis’s music starts fading because it’s _over_ , Theon’s mouth brushes against the corner of his lips, in a gallant, _proper_ , very much ambiguous kiss, and Robb doesn’t turn his head against it just because he _knows_ that his character’s not supposed to get it, not _yet_ , and Theon’s _acting_ anyway, it’s not like he means it.

(For everything Balon Greyjoy thinks, Robb _knows_ Theon’s into women. He _would_.)

For a moment, no one says a word.

Then -

“Rayder,” Stannis deadpans, “if you don’t let them go with it, you don’t deserve the money they’re paying you.”

 _What the hell_ , Robb thinks at once, his fingers leaving Theon’s - the last thing he expected was fo Stannis to endorse them _openly_ when the man doesn’t dole compliments out until _after_ opening night, if he ever does.

“Baratheon, I’m not a goddamned idiot. Right. I can see your point. I _absolutely_ agree with it,” he says. “That was - wow. You _really_ had clear ideas about it, didn’t you?”

Robb is sure that he’s burning as red as his hair. Theon clears his throat. “We take our job seriously,” he settles on.

“I can see that,” Mance says. “Well, fair enough. We’re doing it the way you said.”

“But - but it’s not in the score!” Cersei protests.

 _Of course she would_.

“Cersei,” Mance says, “it’s a _post-apocalyptic_ setting. That’s not in the score, either.”

“Well,” Robb says, grabbing a copy from the piano - there was an extra lying over it -, “here it says that Rodrigo asks things _with deep tender zeal_ and when Rodrigo dies he _falls into Carlo’s arms_ and after he does Carlo _cries desperately_ , I think that it’s _in the score_. Sure as hell when last year we did _il Trovatore_ you spent enough time slapping me in the face and that’s not written on the score either, and I know you will again this year, so how about you shut the fuck up?”

She scowls harder but _does_ shut up, and good thing that because if Robb has to spend another bloody goddamned month playing Manrico and having to share vital space with her every other evening, and sure as hell she _will_ slap him more than once next round as well if not worse, she can let him have his own bloody interpretation of _his_ character.

The day people get tired of listening to _Di quella pira_ can’t come too soon, he decides.

“I think,” Mance grins, “that we have settled on this. Then again, we need people to _talk_ about this production, so - good enough. Let’s have them being star crossed lovers or whatever. Now, you two can go take a break, you’ve been at this since this morning. Robert, we need to go over your parts a moment. Jeyne, Cersei, you two are up together next.”

Cersei sends poor Jeyne a look that would have made anyone cower, but bless Jeyne for actually being so excited about her first lead role to not give a fuck about that. Good. She’s a wonderful person and a very good singer and Robb is really glad that _she_ is in the cast, because in between _everyone else_ they would have probably gone insane if they have to rehearse this for _two goddamn bloody months_.

Robb just hightails out of the room, headed for the vending machine in the nearby hallway. He can hear singing from the rehearsing room upstairs and - oh, it’s Jon. Who still hasn’t quite gotten over the fact that -

“Christ,” Theon says, “that your brother doing _Elisir_?”

“Sounds like it,” Robb agrees. He’s midway into [Una furtiva lagrima](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUw5J8kiyac), from what he can hear. Except that -

“Has _any_ of you tried explaining him that it’s supposed to be… a _romcom_ and not whatever he thinks it is? He sounds like some primadonna from the fifties when he sings it like _that_.”

Robb would like to tell him different, but Theon’s right. Jon _is_ singing it like he’s about to _die_ in uttermost pain, but then again Stannis is going to go over it with him _again_ for the fifth time the moment he’s done wanting to kill Cersei and Robert. Honestly, he still doesn’t know how Stannis hasn’t murdered _most_ of them all up to this point.

“We _did_ , but it’s apparently the only part in his whole repertoire that he can get away with _fully_ singing like he was in a drama and if we try to dissuade him he doesn’t listen.”

Not that Robb doesn’t understand him anyway since he has _the exact same problem_ , except that _he_ doesn’t have anything in his repertoire he can get away with singing like he’s _not_ in a drama.

Neither of them speaks as Robb fishes for spare change in his pocket. Then -

“Hey,” Theon says, “you didn’t mind the kiss, did you?”

“Of course not,” Robb replies, trying to not show how much he’d have enjoyed it if Theon actually had done it for real. “It was the right kind of ambiguous. And if you’re supposed to be in love with me - right, my character - makes sense you’d go there. Really, I’m good. And we showed them, didn’t we?”

Theon grins as Robb pushes in the last coin and gets the both of them some coffee - they’ll need it, if they want to survive rehearsing with _both_ Robert and Cersei until this afternoon.

“Oh, we totally did,” Theon says, delighted. “And we’re _absolutely_ nailing this. I mean, I know you hate your voice and all, but it really is perfect for this.”

“Well, yours is as well. Feel free to thank me anytime for having dragged you with me back in high school.”

“Since when have I _not_ thanked you,” Theon grins back, grabbing his coffee, and Robb can’t help thinking that he _does_ want to kiss that smile off his face.

Yeah, _no_.

He _knows_ Theon doesn’t like him _that_ way and he’s made peace with it a long time ago. If the most he gets when it comes to _kissing_ him is this production, he’ll just be glad for it and enjoy it while it lasts.

And while they’re there, he’ll make good memories. He’ll need them for when he has to co-star with Cersei, _again_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The only thing they're trying here is, again, [Dio che nell'alma infondere](https://youtu.be/JkObC5kmaKQ?t=4m36s), but I linked you the whole scene this round (featuring Stefano Secco as Carlo and the forever missed Dmitri Hvorostovsky as Rodrigo, YOU WERE TAKEN FROM US TOO SOON, Wien Statsooper, 2015). Have fun;  
> \- _Di quella pira_ is _Il trovatore_ 's most famous piece, it's not relevant here but if you wanna listen to it, [here it is](https://youtu.be/xDHSFxVbMWc?t=5m2s) (Franco Corelli as Manrico, TV version made for the Italian RAI channel sometime in the seventies);  
> \- Jon is singing [Una furtiva lagrima](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUw5J8kiyac) (in this performance: Rolando Villazòn, Wien Staatsoper, 2005) ie the most famous piece from Elisir and most likely the most overdramatic tenor aria in comedy repertoire if you ask me but that's mvho xD.


	4. First Pause

 

 _“What did you say your parents do, again?” Theon asks Robb as they eat their lunch - or better, while he eats half of Robb’s sandwich, and he should probably feel resentment that someone he’s known for exactly a week has seen through his bullshit when it came to_ not being hungry _or_ having forgotten his lunch _when they aren’t even in the same class, Robb’s younger._

_(They met because they were both at the principal’s office - Theon got into a fight with Ramsay Bolton that he’d have rather bloody avoided and Robb has thrown himself into it to get Ramsay off him, and thing is, he actually managed even if Ramsay had four years and ten pounds on him.)_

_“Opera singers,” Robb smiles. “The both of them. How do you think I knew how to get that arse off you? I saw my father take some basic fighting classes. And he taught me and Jon some moves.”_

_“Jon?”_

_“Oh, he’s my brother. Right, technically he’s my cousin, but he’s been with us for years, that doesn’t count. He goes to another school, thought, they decided like that so he’d talk to other people who aren’t me and my sister. Fair enough, I guess.”_

_“Did it work?”_

_“Oh, it did. Anyway, they both do that. Well, my aunt also does. And one of my uncles. It’s kind of a family thing. And I want to do it, too, but - oh, I just hope I’m not boring you?”_

_“What? No,” Theon says immediately. As if - he almost never_ talks _to people this easily and after three months of Bolton harassing him every other moment he lost half of his force of will to actually make friends or anything. Not that he ever was great at making_ friends, _not when the last time he brought a couple home his father made sure they wouldn’t feel like coming back. “I mean, I don’t know much about it if you don’t count that my mother has a few she likes a lot, but it’s - cool, I guess. And you do sound like you love it, so. It’s fine.”_

_“Well,” Robb smiles, sort of sheepishly, “I want to do that, too.”_

_“What, be a singer?”_

_“Sure. I mean, you get to sing_ and _act and you learn languages, which is always a good thing if everything else fails, and you can do a thousand different versions of the same thing so it never actually gets old, and if you don’t do stupid stuff like singing things you shouldn’t you get to do it for all of your life, what’s cooler than that?”_

 _Theon has to laugh at the enthusiasm Robb’s putting into that speech. “So what, how many languages do you speak now? And how many_ should _you?”_

_For a moment Robb stares at him and says nothing, and it lasts long enough that Theon starts to think it wasn’t a good question to ask -_

_“Sorry, if it was too personal -”_

_“No,” Robb says at once, “it’s just, whenever I tell other people about it everyone starts thinking I’m stuck up and I want to brag, so I was just surprised.”_

_Theon snorts, shaking his head. “People are stupid.” He knows that drivel well enough. His mother hasn’t listened to any music she liked since one of her vinyls ended up in the trash the last time their father had decided he had enough of that whining in his house. “I won’t think you’re stuck-up.”_

_“Well,” Robb says, “my Italian’s quite good, though Jon’s is better, but it’s because I’m also studying German and he’s not, for now.”_

_“German?”_

_“I mean, it’s not_ as _important, but my favorite is in German and his is in Italian, so it makes sense. And we should both start taking French classes in a couple of years. Anyway, I speak both passably, I guess.”_

 _“Really, and what’s your favorite?” Theon asks, and fuck him, he actually_ wants _to know now. Even if he only knows a handful of titles, the only ones his mother had in the house, but Robb sounds so enthusiastic about the topic, he kind of wants him to keep talking._

 _“The_ Magic Flute _,” Robb says. “It’s about a prince and a princess who have to go through trials to be with each other and it’s really good, though I guess my favorite character is the prince’s sidekick. Never mind, Jon thinks the plot is stupid, but he’s into sad stuff, so what does he know. And our parents fell in love when they were starring in it.”_

_“That’s - that’s cute, actually,” Theon says, absolutely meaning it - sure as hell it’s a lot cuter than how their parents got together (as in: they were neighbors and his father was apparently not as bad back in the day and he apparently had the Marlon-Brando-in-leather-jacket kind of charme, not that Theon can imagine that, and they ended up together when they were teenagers and ended up married just out of high school, and then he started getting worse)._

_“It was,” Robb confirms. “Well, okay, I also like_ Cinderella _, it’s my second-favorite actually, but that’s just because the music’s cool and it’s real fun. I hope I get to sing both one day. Jon can keep his dramas. I mean, he’s eleven and his favorite is_ La forza del destino _, how the hell can he like that sad drag? Uh, sorry, you didn’t ask that, either.”_

_“No, it’s - it’s nice to hear people talking about something they like.”_

_“And which one do_ you _like?”_

_“Wait, what?”_

_“You said your mother likes it. So you must have heard some, right?”_

_Fair. He had. His mother liked the famous stuff, though, or at least he thinks it was famous, except that it’s not like he could say openly that he_ did _like it._

_Still, there was one he liked enough to salvage the vinyl when his father threw it in the trash, before either of his brothers could bring it out. He still has it, stashed it in the back of his closet._

_“Uh, I’d pronounce it terribly, but I liked the one with the whore who falls in love with the rich guy but has to leave him because his father asks her?”_

_“Oh,_ La traviata? _Nice,” Robb smiles. “Well, it’s a bit too dramatic for me, but it’s the best out of the dramas, really.”_

_“Is it?”_

_“Totally,” Robb grins, and then - “Hey, I’ve got singing classes tomorrow. If you don’t have anything to do you could come by? If you’d like, of course.”_

_“What? I can’t sing,” Theon says at once. He doesn’t even think he’s ever_ tried _._

_“You don’t have to,” Robb grins. “I mean, it sounds like you’re interested and no one would mind. And I could show you the theater later. It’s cool. I live right over it.”_

_For a moment he thinks that he_ shouldn’t _, and that his father wouldn’t be happy if he knew he was hanging around opera singers, but he likes Robb, and he_ did _like his mom’s music, and walking around a theater’s backstage sounds cool -_

_He smiles, meaning it. He usually doesn’t, these days. “Sure,” he says, “sure, why the hell not.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per what they're discussing here:
> 
> \- Rossini's _Cenerentola_ is the opera version of Cinderella, just WAY crackier, featuring a fairly demanding tenor role (too bad for Robb it's not suited for his voice but he doesn't know yet);  
>  \- Verdi's _La forza del destino_ is Some Extra Drama, featuring two lovers who end up not being able to be with each other for the entire four hours-something of it, the brother who absolutely hates the idea but then makes friends with the guy without knowing who he is. It also has a fairly bad rep because it's been said that staging it is unlucky;  
>  \- Verdi's _la Traviata_ is More Extra Drama in which the protagonist, a high-class prostitute with TBC, can't spend her last month with her beloved because his father is an idiot and asks her to dump him because no one will marry his daughter if her brother is living with a madam. Obligatory tear-jerker.


	5. Act II

 

“[Se il tuo cor vorrai a me dar in don, il mio trono avrai, ché sovrano io son. Tu lo vuoi? t'inchina, appagar ti vo’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DSdhd3lRrg8) -”

“Everyone, stop!” Stannis _doesn’t_ shout just because he’s a professional, or so he likes to think.

That said, if _something_ is going to turn land him on some paper’s front page for attempted murder, it will be _this_ goddamned production. It’s not enough that he has to rehearse _both_ this and _Elisir_ at the same time because Tywin Lannister can shell money for _everything_ except for _another_ director, at most he shells for a substitute if he feels sick, which means that _everything_ is on him when it comes to directing, and he sadly needs the money after his divorce so he can hardly say no.

It’s not enough that since Greyjoy is singing Posa then the good-looking young baritone in _Elisir_ had to be _Renly_ and whenever he’s not co-starring with his _boyfriend_ his brother is insufferable, and that Jon Stark _cannot_ get into his head that it’s _not-a-tragedy_ when it’s the _fifteenth_ time he sings that opera. No, he had to end up directing _his brother_ and _Cersei_ and _Joffrey_ in the same production, and of course Cersei has pretended to listen to everything he told her during rehearsals and now is doing the exact same things she should _not_ do when trying with the orchestra. He’s halfway sure that everyone down in the orchestra pit is laughing by now, but he can’t blame them.

“Cersei,” he grits his teeth, “for the _umpteenth_ time, you’ve read that score. It has _half_ of the notes you’re singing. If you’re about to tell me that this is one of your _two_ meager times to shine in this piece, you’ve done it ten times already, and the rest of them I told you that _I cannot give a damn_. If you want to sing _your_ version of whatever piece it is, convince your father to pay for your personal recital and then you can maul Verdi however much you like. But you’re _not_ mauling him when I’m conducting, are we clear?”

She huffs, sending him a murderous look, but if she thinks _that_ is what will make him change his mind, she’s forgotten that he’s been directing her for almost two decades, _this opera included,_ and she was _married to his brother_ , he’s not going to budge.

“But -” She starts.

“ _No_ ,” he cuts her off. “You’re singing it _the way it’s written_ and that’s the end of the story. And we’ve been rehearsing this specific piece for _one hour_ , we’re behind on schedule, I’m fairly sure Greyjoy and Jeyne Westerling are about to fall asleep on their feet since _they_ have to come in now and they’ve been waiting since this morning and you’re setting us all back, so how about you just bloody do it?”

“ _Fine_ ,” she huffs, and _then_ she finally goes through the goddamn bloody veil song at once - at least, when she’s not trying to overdo things, she _can_ sing. He honestly, _honestly_ doesn’t envy Greyjoy for having to share the stage with _both_ her and Robert one-on-one for a good part of this drama, but at least the kid doesn’t actually sing notes that _don’t exist in the score_.

Anyway, they finish _that_ part, thankfully, and he’s fairly sure that Cersei is _not_ acting when Jeyne Westerling walks in and she sends her a look that would have made anyone spontaneously combust.

At least Jeyne is a _nice_ , professional girl who _doesn’t_ want to overdo things just to show off, and Greyjoy’s just _that_ talented.

That said, Stannis thinks as he looks at the three of them and takes mental note of _everywhere_ they’re not harmonizing (or better, everywhere _Cersei_ isn’t harmonizing with the other two), he can’t help noticing that when finally Greyjoy goes into Posa’s romanza about Carlo -

_[Carlo, who, alone, is our beloved, lives in suffering on this soil](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-hQcpmKDbg),_

_And no one knows how much the pain in his beloved heart wilts that flower,_

_The hope of he who weeps is in you, let him have back his peace and strength_

_Please let him see you again, and if he comes back, he will be saved -_

He’s _so_ convincing that he almost _distracts_ him, and - fine. Greyjoy’s born for this and if you ask Stannis he’s the best singer out of the younger people in this blasted company - not counting Brienne Tarth - who are fully on rotation, if anything because he _can_ sing anything he puts his mind to and he enjoys the job for what it is and he can act, on top of that (Robb and Jon are _good_ but it’s obvious they don’t like their roles most of the time, Cersei and Robert are unprofessional and overdo it all the time, Brienne is excellent but she’s almost never cast in the roles she _should_ be cast in because Cersei sabotages it, Jaime _could_ be singing in way more prestigious places if only he _bothered_ to put some effort into it and instead he only does if he’s starring with Brienne, and the lesser said about the _older_ singers the better; honestly, the only people in _that_ group that don’t make him feel like shooting himself in the head when directing are Ned, Cat, Jon Connington and Ashara Dayne whenever she’s around, for the rest it’s a complete mess). But -

“Carlo del re suo genitore rinchiuso il core ognor trovò,” Theon goes on, sounding like he might actually bloody start crying, “eppur non so chi dell'amore saria più degno, ah, inver no 'l so.”

 _Carlo found the heart of his father closed always, but I don’t know who is worthier of his love, I really don’t_.

And _fine_ , they’re playing it as if Posa was in love with him in a _post-apocalyptic setting_ (Stannis doesn’t mind modern productions, he _doesn’t_ , but was it really necessary, that’s what he’d like to know), but he has a feeling that this isn’t just good acting.

Not that he _cares_ what singers do behind the scenes or he’d have shot himself in the head a long time ago given what went on when Rhaegar and Lyanna had that fling twenty-odd years ago, but he has a feeling that Greyjoy’s not acting just out of love for the craft.

Well, never mind that - the trio is almost over and he’ll have to explain Cersei that she cannot sing _that_ much louder than _both_ the other two on purpose, if anything because it’s useless, they can be heard anyway, and she has to sing this every odd day of the week for _one month_ , if she keeps on like this they’ll arrive on opening night and she won’t have a voice left anymore.

Still -

_Still._

It’s _kind_ of suspicious.

“Right,” he says as he lowers his baton. “Greyjoy, Westerling, you’re doing good. Cersei, if you try to sing _louder_ than two people _all of the time_ you will just end up finding yourself without functioning vocal chords before opening night. Let’s go over it again before Stark gets here and we have to do _the other_ trio.”

 _And maybe, if Robert bothers to show up already rather than when he decides, we can rehearse his parts, too_.

Stannis _does_ love the art, but he really bloody hates this job.

—

“Say,” Davos tells him an hour later or so, while they’re getting lunch - he couldn’t physically take rehearsing that trio anymore -, “do you think we might have on our hands another situation like the last time we performed _that_ opera?”

Stannis swallows his tuna sandwich, courtesy of his daughter who never fails to pack him some for lunch every day without being asked. Sometimes he wonders where they went right with her because in between him and his ex-wife, there was a recipe for disaster in the making when it came to having children, and surely Shireen is a way more adjusted kid than _Joffrey_ , at least. Then he looks up at the set designer _and_ stage manager, and also, incidentally, his best friend _and_ the only person he can stomach seeing for more than two days in a row in this entire place.

“The last time we did it,” Stannis says cautiously, “it was _years_ ago and I think you need to be a bit more specific, because as far as I remember enough stuff happened to fill three South American telenovelas with material for a good season.”

“Fair enough,” Davos admits, “it _did_. I mean, that _specific_ part of it where Jon Connington was obviously not acting when it came to Rodrigo’s _feelings_ and where Rhaegar _still_ hasn’t realized it.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Right. That production was a complete disaster behind the scenes - not _outside_ , for some miracle. Jon and Rhaegar were Rodrigo and Carlo, of course, and then Cersei and Robert were Eboli and Philippe, Lyanna was Elisabetta and Jon Arryn the Great Inquisitor, and - shit. Robert was technically Lyanna’s boyfriend - they split up during that production’s run, of course - and Rhaegar was _married_ , except that they ended up falling for each other during rehearsals and during the opening night’s intermission Lyanna had showed up saying that unless her pregnancy test was lying she was expecting. Elia had _of course_ left Rhaegar at once and refused to star with him in anything else since, not that Stannis could blame her, Cersei had been trying to get into Rhaegar’s pants for _months_ regardless of whether he was married and she ended up with Robert out of resentment and that’s how their horrid marriage had started out, and on top of everything else, it was obvious for anyone with eyes that Connington was _completely_ and utterly gone on Rhaegar.

It had technically resulted into the _best_ Posa Stannis had seen anyone sing under this damned roof since the moment he was hired, admittedly - except that knowing that the man was _not_ acting when he was literally crying as he sang _you were born to reign and I was born to die for you_ looking up into Rhaegar’s dumb violet eyes was _not_ a thing you wanted to be aware of while directing. It had been the most uncomfortable month of Stannis’s life and he couldn’t really begrudge Connington for having refused to sing that part since. On the last performance, he looked gutted even when he came out during the curtain call even as he got more applause than anyone else in the cast, and the sad part is that it’s been twenty years and the man _still_ hasn’t gotten over Rhaegar, or not completely, at least.

Well, at least when it comes to _this_ one production, there’s no danger that Westerling might end up pregnant since she and Robb used to date and then decided they were better friends than partners and he’s fairly sure that both Ned and Cat _did_ tell him to use protection if they ended up having sex.

“You mean, Stark and Greyjoy might not be playing the whole lovers angle just because they have _ideas_ about what those two characters are up to?”

Davos shrugs. “I mean that Greyjoy does _definitely_ look like he’s not acting. Same as _Connington_ was not acting. Admittedly, Stark seems to actually be into it even if he’s acting like his character has no clue that Rodrigo’s in love with him.”

Rhaegar, Stannis thinks, _definitely_ wasn’t into it, but then again Rhaegar couldn’t think about anything that wasn’t Lyanna back in the day. Hell, he can’t _now_ , for that matter.

So much that their kid ended up raised by _her brother’s family_ and Stannis is halfway sure that the moment he elopes with Ygritte he’s going to take _her_ name as a fuck you to both his biological parents, which _would_ be entirely in character. Surely it would be _dramatic_ enough, and _Jon Snow_ doesn’t sound half bad, if you ask him.

“Well, then Greyjoy’s already doing better if it’s the case,” he shrugs before biting down on his sandwich again. “Besides,” he adds after swallowing, “if those two _really_ are into each other we won’t get any unplanned pregnancy to deal with.”

“Robb would be too responsible for _that_ , even if he was still sleeping with Jeyne. Which he’s not.”

“By the way, are Rhaegar and Lyanna actually showing up for what things they’re supposed to star in?”

“No idea. That said, Lannister said that if Brandon bothers to answer the calls we might squeeze in a _Don Giovanni_ as well, we already have the sets anyway -”

“Oh, _no_ ,” Stannis groans. Brandon Stark is the _worst_ person he’s ever worked with, yes, even worse than Robert and Cersei because as full of themselves as they are at least they _do_ show up, and he doesn’t bother to sing most other roles except for Count Almaviva whenever he feels like it, though it’s true that he’s _magnificent_ in it, but since he managed to piss off _all_ of his family and _anyone_ who usually stars in that opera whenever they have it on rotation, it’s usually a damned minefield to stage it. “They don’t pay me enough for all of this.”

“Cannot disagree,” Davos says, “at least I don’t have to actually _talk_ to them.”

“I hate actors. I hate _singers,”_ Stannis groans, and reaches for his water. He doesn’t drink alcohol and he doesn’t make exceptions, but he’s just realized that in thirty minutes he will have to go through _Robert_ ’s aria and scene with Greyjoy and given that Robert will _most likely_ show up after a few glasses of wine and Cersei _will_ be there, it’s going to be even worse than this morning.

At least Joffrey is _not_ here. Hopefully he’s learning his part for _Rigoletto_ , because the last thing Stannis needs when it’s time to rehearse _that_ is finding out he didn’t bother to even do it well, and a bad Duke does _not_ profits turn.

One day, _one day_ , someone with more taste than Tywin Lannister will buy this company from him and Stannis will be able to do his job in peace and without risking a nervous breakdown.

 _One day_.

For now, he accepts wordlessly as Davos pats him on the back - he wouldn’t accept it from anyone else, admittedly, but Davos is a _friend_ , the only person that back in the day he found tolerable and now, well, of course they’ve gone beyond that, and one of the few people with a functioning brain in this entire place, and one of the few reasons he got through his divorce without risking his mental health, and so he can take liberties most people couldn’t - and gets mentally ready for the afternoon. He’s willing to bet money that by the time it’s over he will be overjoyed at the prospect of explaining Jon Stark-soon-to-be-Snow-if-he-elopes-with-Ygritte-already that he can’t sing a _comedy_ the way Callas sang Violetta’s last aria in _La traviata_ , though he sincerely hopes that Robert might prove him wrong. Except that he knows he’s most likely hoping in vain.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Cersei's singing Eboli's [Canzone del velo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DSdhd3lRrg8) from Don Carlo (this specific performance: Elena Obraztsova, La Scala, 1985);  
> \- Theon's singing Rodrigo's romanza, [Carlo ch'e sol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-hQcpmKDbg) (performance: Mykahilo Kirishev as Rodrigo, T. Anisimova as Elisabetta and A. Pozniak as Eboli, National Opera of Ukraine, Kyiv 2013).


	6. Intermission

 

 _Davos isn’t usually the kind of man who hates his job so much that he breathes out in relief whenever a production is over and groans in frustration when getting ready for the next one - he does like it, actually, he’s well-paid, he’s never going to be able to thank Stannis enough for having advised him to try for it when Lannister was looking for a new set designer_ and _stage manager and he could cover for both; but damn, this is the second to last performance and he can’t fucking wait for the next one so that they finally pull down the curtain on this bloody disaster and they all can move on with their lives._

 _Good thing that no one realized_ outside _the company, but right now he wishes Pycelle trying to convince Elia to_ not _leave Rhaegar before another couple of months just for publicity reasons was their main issues. Because of course Robert and Lyanna have split up, which has resulted in_ multiple _performances of_[Ella giammai m’amò](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flTgbcF0heY) _during which Robert was_ both _crying for real and drinking real alcohol, she said she’s definitely going to keep the baby and Rhaegar is enthusiast but at the same time he didn’t even seem to realize that Elia might get pissed, because since her brother is fine with open relationships then he thought she also would be._

 _Davos has a feeling that she_ might _be fine with it if_ talked about it _previously and if it doesn’t result in her husband and another woman planning to have children, but then again Rhaegar always was an excellent singer and a terrible judge of personalities, never mind that he’s a nice guy, he really is, but he tends to_ not notice _what he doesn’t like to._

 _Which means that he certainly hasn’t noticed that Lyanna about moving in with him after Elia left and after the fifth performance has caused enough stirrings in the Stark household, too, and he has a feeling that_ no one _needed that after the whole falling out with Brandon two years ago, and he certainly hasn’t noticed that when Jon Connington sings in his face that_ he was born to die for him _he sounds like he kind of wants to in real life._

_Probably going into Stannis walking in on Robert and Cersei having sex backstage during the intermission didn’t help out._

_He shudders as he takes a last look around the stage - the lights are half-out and everything looks tidy, so he can probably lock everything up and go home already, and possibly call Stannis before he does because he_ did _look like he was dangerously close to_ at least _punch both Robert and Cersei in the face before, and he has a feeling it would be a fairly horrid idea._

_He’s also sure most people have left, except that there’s noise coming from the dressing rooms._

_He walks up the stairs._

_“Anyone here?” He asks. “I wouldn’t want to lock -”_

_And then he stops because someone is in the hallway._

_Namely, Jon Connington, who has changed from his costume into his usual jeans and sensible black coat and who swears the moment he sees Davos coming up, and of course he would, given that there are tear tracks on his face._

_Davos_ could _just go back and pretend he hasn’t seen anything._

_Except that the man’s obviously miserable and he’s sure that no one actually asked him how he was doing or anything of the kind in the last three weeks, given that everyone’s been too worried about the rest of this ridiculous telenovela mess to worry about it._

_He sighs and reaches down inside his coat’s pocket, he’s sure he had a pack of tissues. He does. He grabs it and throws it Jon’s way._

_“Catch,” he says. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”_

_“Thanks,” Jon replies, before tearing out one of the tissues out and blowing his nose once, twice, thrice, and then he grabs another one and about buries his face in it. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”_

_“Jon,_ please _. I’m fairly sure that half of this company guessed it. And I can’t even begin to think how much you must be hating that role right now.”_

_“Shit,” he says, “the moment this is over, I’m telling Pycelle to only cast me as the bad guy from this point on, if Rhaegar has to lead. I can’t do it again.”_

_“Shouldn’t you tell him?”_

_He laughs. “He’s just asked me to be his kid’s godfather, because Arthur’s going to be the witness at their wedding whenever it happens, so - you know. Of course I said yes, because I’m a masochist, I guess. Telling him now would just make things awkward.”_

_Davos flinches in sympathy. “Sorry about that,” he says. “It - it must suck.”_

_“You don’t want to know. You_ really _don’t. But - thanks. You need me to be out of here, right?”_

_“I should lock the place up. But you know what, let me do it and I can check if Stannis is still among us and I can buy the both of you a round of whatever at the pub around the corner. You’re about the only two sane people in this damned production, you could do with it.”_

_Jon shrugs, but he does throw the tissue in the trash. “You know what, I’m game. Thanks again, you didn’t have to -”_

_“I don’t like to see people feel like shit if I can help them feeling slightly less so.”_

_“Fair. I’ll - I’ll meet you downstairs.”_

_He leaves, and Davos quickly checks the dressing rooms - everything is in place._

_He takes a deep, deep breath, and then locks the door leading up to the hallway and heads backstage - the phone is just around the corner, he can call Stannis and then they can all go out for half an hour and forget this clusterfuck of a production._

_Jon’s sitting in one of the empty chairs in the audience, he can see him from here. He looks completely, utterly miserable._

_Davos picks up the phone and hopes,_ dearly _, that the next performance isn’t a complete disaster behind the scenes and that this damned title isn’t picked up again for the next ten bloody years, at least._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- [Ella giammai m'amò](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flTgbcF0heY) (performance: Samuel Ramey as King Philippe, La Scala, 1992) is Philippe's main/major aria, in which the king laments that his wife never really loved him (but loved his son instead OOOPS bad choice man).


	7. Act III

 

There’s a reason why Jon has intentionally avoided anything that had to do with _Don Carlo_ and Rodrigo di Posa for the last twenty years.

Honestly, he was going to not even show up at rehearsals for this one, and he was _not_ going to opening night even if technically he _should_ , given that he’s been employed here for half of his life but then Tyrion Lannister showed up pretty much _begging_ him to agree to cover for Theon Greyjoy if he happened to fall ill or anything of the kind because they couldn’t afford to botch _this_ specific production. And Jon is entirely aware that he’s the only person in the rest of the company that could sing Rodrigo _and_ knows the role, and he doesn’t hate _Tyrion_ Lannister that much, never mind that the man never was late with their paychecks even when they were in the red for the first two years he was handling finances.

So he shows up for the first costume rehearsal, figuring that at least he should be aware of how the entire thing is staged and so on - thankfully he’s been doing this job for long enough that no one asked him to actually _be present_ all the time.

He has to admit that Seaworth did a hell of a good job with those sets - the opening looks out of some _Mad Max_ movie, and he’s not surprised to notice that no one is dressed as royalty. Robb Stark walks on stage in dark red leather with a fake gun strapped to his hip and practical combat boots, the entire opposite of Rhaegar years ago.

That one was a classic production. Rhaegar had worn a lovely outfit with trousers made of soft, indigo silk, the same shade as his leather doublet paired with a white poet shirt underneath and an equally indigo velvet cloak, which complimented his eyes in such a breathtaking way it still _hurts_ to think of it. He had looked _beyond_ handsome in it, but then again, he only had eyes for Lyanna Stark from the first day of rehearsal. Jon had said nothing, figuring that he wouldn’t act on it, especially since he was _married_ (and hadn’t _that_ hurt, back in the day, enough that he’s fairly sure he was an asshole to Elia for a long while and ended up apologizing for it during the divorce - she hadn’t deserved it, but then again he’d have hated _anyone_ Rhaegar married), but then he _hadn’t_ , and no one knows that he had been aware from _before_ it actually came to light.

(He had walked in on them in Rhaegar’s dressing room when he didn’t show up for rehearsal on time, and he had sworn to keep his mouth shut. He had. Maybe he shouldn’t have, but it wasn’t his business, not really. And he didn’t have it in himself to harbor resentment for _another_ woman.)

 _He_ had worn an almost completely black outfit, trousers and doublet and boots and cloak, except for some golden trimming so that it would resemble the colors of the Flanders’ banner, that honestly paled in comparison to anyone else’s costumes, from Lyanna’s dark blue gown, laced in the front and embroidered in white lace to Cersei’s bright red and golden venetian zimarra to Robert’s grey velvet trousers and jerkin, but that was fine - his character, after all, was the only idiot who actually _sacrificed himself_ in this entire drama, wasn’t it? It was the point that he wouldn’t be as flashy.

Anyway, Stark is good - as much as everyone in here knows that he hates singing drama he’s not showing it, and he sounds _very_ convincing as he sings while walking in the middle of the fake rubble covering the stage, and if Jon isn’t wrong he _did_ grow his hair a bit for the role. Not a bad choice. It _definitely_ fits with the post-apocalyptic aesthetic. Sure, his voice doesn’t make his stomach flip over the way Rhaegar had, but then again maybe part of the appeal was the voice itself, and the rest was that Rhaegar would have never called him _my consoling angel_ or _mine_ at all, outside a stage.

(Jon _would_ have called him _beloved_ outside it, if he could have. _If_.)

He stays sitting in first row as he decides that Robert _really_ cut a way more striking figure years ago than _now_ , but the the completely black fake leather outfit they found him with a large tattered cloak isn’t a bad choice for him, and for how _not_ professional he is, he still can sing this part better than anyone else they could have picked. He looks right for it same as he did back then, Jon has to admit, probably better now because _then_ he had no grey in his hair or his beard.

(Though he surely had _words_ and opinions about his girlfriend cheating on him with Rhaegar to the point that she told them she was pregnant just before the opening night.

That _certainly_ did help, when it came to making Robert’s rage more believable.)

The fact that _he_ had been the most applauded during curtain call had been nice, sure, but not worth how much he felt like someone had just stabbed him in the heart every time he walked on stage. Not worth it _at all_.

He considers leaving after that - he’s gotten a feel of the production and it’s different enough from his last that he could get through it without feeling like throwing up, but then Theon Greyjoy bursts on the stage in a dark, worn-up military uniform, leather boots and a fake rifle slung behind his shoulder and a belt full of equally fake knives, and those two _embrace_ as they greet each other, and -

Well, _shit_.

He hasn’t even _listened_ to _Dio che nell’alma infondere_ fully since he sang it last on closing night, _that_ long ago. Just hearing the beginning would remind him of Rhaegar’s hands on his shoulders and his strong, steadfast voice voice as he said _he would live with him and die with him_ (no, not _him_ , but still), and most of all of how _horrid_ it had felt to pretend to actually die in the man’s arms for the next bloody month, because you hear the exact same music when Rodrigo dies, and being clutched to Rhaegar’s chest for those few minutes every other evening was at the same time heavenly (because he got to _feel_ that, after all) and the most fucking painful thing he had to endure (because he wouldn’t ever get to feel _that_ outside a stage, would he?) and he just - he can’t listen to it. He _can’t_.

But the moment those two go straight into each other’s arms and start singing it, he forgets how much he _hates_ that duet by now and just stares at them. Fine, he _was_ told of how they’re playing it, but as soon as he catches a good look at Greyjoy’s face he thinks, _fucking hell, that was how_ I _looked back in the day_.

And fine, Stark is playing it as _he doesn’t realize what he’s feeling but he’s going with it,_ but from the way he’s grasping at Greyjoy’s hands and holding on to him while they hug, _again_ , he looks like someone who’s definitely enjoying his chance.

And Jon would _know_ that. He’s done it enough times to recognize it.

He was planning to leave. He has to revise for both _Lucia_ and _Trovatore_ , after all, never mind that he does miss playing people who _aren’t_ villains once in a while.

Instead, he stays for the entire thing, and he has to wipe angrily at his eyes at Rodrigo’s death scene - those two are good at singing, and they’re good actors, and the forehead kisses they trade before the last moment were definitely a good touch, but fuck, the way Greyjoy’s hand lingers on Stark’s cheek as he sings, _don’t forget me_ , is just -

 _I had done the same years ago. The exact same. But Rhaegar never crushed me to his chest_ that _tight, after_.

He wonders, _might it be that we’re having the exact same situation here?_

From the way Greyjoy was looking at Stark throughout the entire thing, either he’s an exceedingly good actor, or it might be.

It _really_ might be.

Thing is, if it was _the exact same situation_ he’d go backstage to offer Theon his sincere condolences, but from how Stark looks for the next ten minutes after Rodrigo’s death, Jon has the impression that it’s not.

For a moment he thinks, _it’s not my business._  

But then - _if I had to go through that, it doesn’t mean others have to, except that those two don’t look so quick on the uptake given that they’ve been rehearsing those scenes for this long and haven’t figured it out._ Or better, they’ve known each other since _forever_ and they haven’t figured it out.

 _Fair_.

He stands up and heads backstage - Stark’s not going to be there because he has to sing the last duet with Jeyne Westerling and Robert and Cersei are probably off either fighting or drinking or having post-divorce hatesex or all three things, so Greyjoy’s most definitely going to be free.

He _is_ \- Jon finds him drinking from a bottle of water while leaning against the door leading towards the stairs that go up to the dressing rooms.

“Theon,” he says, “can I have a word?”

“Who - oh, hi. I hadn’t known you were here.”

“In theory I should cover for you if you end up sick, but I sorely hope you don’t.”

Greyjoy smirks, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Why, because you hate this role?”

“I’m not even going to ask how you got as far, it was probably obvious. Partially, but also because you’re good at it and you should sing it, not _me_.”

“Oh, so it wasn’t about the singing? For a moment I thought I was fucking it up,” Theon shrugs, and Jon shakes his head.

“Greyjoy, you’re _not_ fucking that up. You’re born to sing that part, for what it’s worth coming from me.”

“Are you _serious_?” Theon is staring at him as if he can’t quite get Jon’s entire point. “There’s footage of the old one, you know. The one you and Targaryen were in.”

Jon tries to not flinch. “I didn’t know it was public.”

Theon shrugs. “I asked Sam if he could find it for me since I wanted to look at it when I was studying the part with Robb. Like, years ago.” He drinks more of his water. “It was _magnificent_.” He sounds maybe a bit envious, but mostly he’s just awed. “Man, you nailed it. At some points it was so intense I had to pause. Of course I expected I was fucking it up.”

Jon doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry. Maybe both.

“You’re not. And thank you, but - there’s a reason why I haven’t sang it since. Which is the same reason why it was… _intense_ ,” he settles on.

It’s probably sad that Theon immediately looks at him in understanding. “Oh. Right. You were -”

“In love with him? Yes,” Jon admits. “For that matter, I’ve never fallen out of it, but back then it just hurt worse. I wasn’t acting, that’s the problem. And the reason I wanted to talk to you is that since it takes one to know one… well, I wasn’t acting, and _neither are you_. Either of you.”

It’s _very_ telling that Theon doesn’t deny it at once.

“Wait, _he_ isn’t acting?” He asks a moment later, and - right, he’s not denying it at all.

“ _You_ sure as hell are not,” Jon shrugs, “but believe me, I’ve sang that role opposite someone who _was_ acting and the point wasn’t even that he was supposed to be in love with _my_ character without having realized it, and it’s nowhere near the same thing. And - whatever you can say about Rhaegar, he’s good at what he does. The reason everyone got suspicious during that production when he was sleeping with Lyanna was that he’s usually _way_ more professional than that.”

“It - it kind of did look like that,” Theon admits.

“Because that was the way it went. Anyhow, when it came to _me_ , Rhaegar was acting. When it comes to _you_ , I have a distinct feeling that _Robb_ is taking advantage of the entire situation because he gets to be touchy-feely with you _way_ more ambiguously than he usually is. And from the way you’re looking at me, I have a distinct feeling you didn’t notice.”

Theon is still looking at him with wide eyes, shaking his head slightly. “I - no, but - we’ve been - I mean, we’ve always been _close_ , I guess, he’s always been - he doesn’t even like _men_ like that, for -”

“Pay attention at the next rehearsal and watch him with _Jeyne_ , then tell me he’s the same with you.”

“He’s good at _acting_ , it doesn’t mean -”

“Just watch him with _her_ and then with _you_. That said, good for you that you haven’t denied it once.”

Theon snorts, but it’s not _happy_. Nothing of the sorts. “I’ve known I liked _him_ since I was eighteen or so,” he shrugs, “and I’ve known I was into both men and women way earlier than that. And my father already decided what I was and what I wasn’t the moment I told him I wanted to do this job for real and he hasn’t talked to me in some six years, what the hell do I have to prove by denying it?”

Jon nods. “Well, if you want advice, tell him.”

“ _What_ -”

“ _Tell him_ or you’ll end up on the brink of your forties without him even _suspecting_ it and believe me, it’s not a nice place to be. Especially if _he actually likes you back_. You’re a way better actor than _that_ in real life, admittedly, because I wouldn’t have suspected, and you’re good on stage as well, but _now_ you’re being completely obvious if you’re on stage with _him_ and - just consider it. Other than that, I have absolutely nothing to advise you.”

“… Really? _Nothing_? I can’t believe -”

“No one sings the same role in the exact same way. You have a good voice and you can use it, and you obviously have ideas about this character and you thought about it and honestly, you own it already. You don’t need _me_ to give you tips about how you should sing it. Never mind that I can see that this role makes you happy.”

At _that_ , Theon does blush slightly, not quite looking at him but not even denying it. “It’s - well, it’s rewarding,” he says. “I like it. And as much as I’d have avoided being in the middle of Robert and Cersei’s issues I’m doing it with two people I _like_ , at worst, and - well, you guessed, so. And Robb and I, we learned it together. It was one of the first times we did. If this does well, it means maybe next year we can have better ones or we might get extra engagements. What if I do?”

Jon smiles, sadly. He’s never told anyone that after the last performance he got a call from an agent who dealt with a few fairly important theaters in Germany and at least a couple of festivals. The man told him that he _cried_ when he heard his _Per me giunto è il dì supremo,_ and he knew this theater in Hamburg that was going to stage _Don Carlo_ in a few months and needed a substitute for Rodrigo because theirs wasn’t available anymore, and they had ties with the Wildbad festival, and maybe he’d consider joining that production?

Jon had politely declined. Sometimes he thinks, _if I had taken it maybe now I’d have gotten as far as the Met_ , maybe, but he hadn’t because the idea of _not_ being where Rhaegar was, regardless of the fact that it was hopeless, felt insufferable, and he doesn’t regret it after all, not when if he hadn’t stayed things would have turned out way uglier for anyone involved. Still -

“To me, that’s the saddest part I’ve ever played and just the idea of doing it again makes me feel miserable. We’d approach it from completely opposite points and I’m not going to influence you negatively. Really, just tell him. Now, or after you’re done, but I think you have way better chances than _I_ had with Rhaegar, if I ever had them. So - that was my piece of advice. Clear?”

“Clear,” Theon nods, still looking as if he doesn’t _entirely_ buy it but he’s at least thinking about it.

“Good,” Jon forces himself to smile. “And _please_ , don’t even try to fall sick on opening night because I don’t want to sing that role ever again if I can help it and I’m sure that _Robb_ would rather have you than me on that stage. Good luck, but if you do it the way you did before, you won’t need it.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

He doesn’t even wait for Theon to thank him - he nods at him and leaves, the last notes from Carlo and Elisabetta’s last duet faint in the distance.

He had thought he’d desert opening night for good.

But maybe -

Maybe he’ll go. Just once. If anything to see if he might have given those two a hand in _not_ turning out like him and Rhaegar did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Wildbad festival is a [German belcanto festival specialized in Rossini operas](http://www.bad-wildbad.eu/rossini/) that's held in the summer in the Black Forest.


	8. Second Pause

 

_“My father thinks I should go work for my uncle,” Theon sighs, and he wishes he could look at Robb as he said it, but he can’t._

_“He wants you to go on a fucking_ fishing boat _?” Robb shoots back, sounding outraged, but at least not at_ him _, and Theon does manage to look at him then, and - right. He_ does _look it, but it’s definitely for his father, not for anyone else.”_

 _“Sounds like it,” he says. “Of course, the punchline was that_ I had fun until now but I have to worry about serious things _, as in, not_ this _, but -”_

 _“Theon, you_ are _aware it would be a bloody waste, aren’t you?”_

_“Robb -”_

_“_ Theon _, I can’t tell you what to do, of course,” he says, his hand suddenly covering Theon’s wrist, “but I know you hate fish and you’d hate_ that _, and I also know that you don’t hate singing or you wouldn’t have taken it seriously until this point._ And _I know that you’ve hit the jackpot.”_

_“Robb, don’t -”_

_“Theon, don’t even. You’re_ way _more gifted than I am at this. I mean, I’m good, regardless of how much I hate how my voice is settling, but you could do_ anything _you wanted, the way_ yours _settled. If you stick with it, you’ll go somewhere. I know you will. If you don’t - well, it’s your decision, but it would be a waste. A complete fucking waste. Just think about it, all right?”_

 _“I will,” Theon says, meaning at least_ that _, because as far as_ thinking _about it goes he most certainly_ will -

  _But when it comes to what he will_ do _, who even knows. He knows that if he decided to go for it, since he apparently has_ potential _, Lannister_ would _probably give him a grant and he could take proper classes instead of just trailing along Robb’s, and if he actually got as good as everyone says while_ trailing along _he probably would do good if he did it full-time. But if he thinks about the four times they discussed his_ useless pastime _with his father -_

_“By the way,” Robb interrupts his thought trail, and how has he most probably guessed what he was thinking already? , “Your father is also an idiot working on assumptions. I came to get you from your house six months ago, did you think I didn’t hear?”_

_… Six months ago was when they had that_ horrid _row just after his mother got hospitalized,_ again _._

_“And…?”_

_“Never mind that there’s nothing wrong in liking whoever you like,_ following me into a den of deviants _? Seriously?”_

 _“You remember_ that _?”_

 _“How was I going to forget? And seriously, you’ve seen everyone else. The only man in there who isn’t into women is Jon Connington and he always plays bad_ manly _guys, and if your idiot of a father looked at him and Rhaegar he wouldn’t guess right when it comes to_ who _is into men out of the two of them.”_

_“Fair, but telling him won’t work and you know that.”_

_“I do,” Robb says, “but before you end up being miserable on fishing boats for the next fifteen years when you could be having fun on stage, just take into account that I’m not beyond having you share my room should he kick you out for that.”_

_“You really would do that much in the name of art?” Theon jokes, and he knows it’s not the proper reaction to such an offer, but -_

_“Idiot, art is a good reason, but I’d do that much because we’re_ friends _and you deserve nice things._ Think _about it,” he smiles, and Theon honestly has no words to answer, and so he swallows the part of himself telling him that_ men don’t do such things _and squeezes Robb’s hand back._

_He will._

_—_

_“How is she doing?” He asks his sister, wishing they had the money to afford better than a public ward - he hates the smell and he hates the white sterile walls and he has a feeling his mother would get better faster someplace nicer with maybe a garden and nurses who aren’t constantly tired, but then again he can’t even blame them, given that they most likely have shifts longer than it’s legal._

_“Overall?” Asha shrugs. “Could be better. Today? She was better than usual when I talked to her before.”_

_“So if I go talk to her -”_

_“She’ll answer,” Asha smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “And if it’s_ you _, it’ll be way more likely. By the way, you look horrible. What’s happened?”_

_“Dad was very clear about what he wishes I’d do after I’m done with high school.”_

_“What, Uncle Victarion’s fishing boat with Maron? Now_ that _would be a horrid idea. What, he thinks it’ll sap the art out of you?”_

 _“Might be,” Theon says, and good thing_ she _is not telling him to go with it. “Robb doesn’t agree.”_

 _“Well,_ obviously _he wouldn’t. And do_ you _?”_

_“What do you think?” He huffs. “Of course I don’t want to go fishing with either of them. Anyway, can I just -”_

_“Sure. I’ll be here for another hour or so.”_

_He nods and walks into the room, and_ at least _his mother’s not on the bed but sitting at the small desk - not that it makes the scenery any less sad but it means that at least she wants to do_ something _other than lying in it. And she does look overtly glad to see him as always, and he wishes he could come more than once per week, but there’s just_ one _day where Robb doesn’t have singing lessons and given that he’s still living off attending them when in theory he’s not even signed up, he shouldn’t miss any._

_“I - I need advice, I think,” he says, taking the seat next to her._

_“What advice?” She asks softly, and he thinks that it’s a damned pity her hair’s already white when she’s not even_ fifty _. Fuck his father, honestly. She deserved better._

_“I - I’m done with school in a couple of months.”_

_“… Already? Is it_ May _?”_

_“Yes,” he shrugs._

_“Oh. I thought - never mind that. So?”_

_“So, er, according to -”_

_“Theon, I might be_ here _but I still know who you mean. You can say_ my father _without worrying that I might take it badly.”_

_He clears his throat. “Well, according to him it’s high time I go work for his brother. Along with -”_

_“Ah, of course, he sent both your brothers there regardless of what they wanted or didn’t want, your brother_ died _because your uncle can’t be bothered to stick to security norms and now he wants to do the same with_ you _?”_

 _Theon doesn’t add,_ and because Rodrik was drunk when it happened, _but they never told her and it’s better than she doesn’t know. “So it seems.”_

_“You don’t sound like you want to.”_

_“Because I_ don’t _. On the other side - Robb’s sure that if I go for it I could, uh, well, get a grant. And he said that if everything else fails I could go live with them but I’d hope it wouldn’t come to_ that. _But when I mentioned just the first half of that, the reaction wasn’t -”_

_“Dear, I think you just answered yourself.”_

_“Er, what?”_

_“Before you sounded like you could have jumped off a window at the prospect,_ now _you’re sounding excited about it. And given that your father has ruined_ both _your brothers’s lives already I don’t see why you should ruin yours. If you want to go sing with you friend’s company and it makes you happy, do it. Not that you ever let me hear you,” she smiles._

 _He_ knows _he’s blushing._

_“It wouldn’t have been a good idea,” he blurts._

_“Well, of course it wouldn’t be if your father was around. Still, maybe you could?”_

_Well, shit. He_ could _. Except that he knows her favorite and he doesn’t even know if it’s a good plan, but -_

_“Any requests?”_

_“I know that my_ Traviata _vinyl is in the back of your closet.”_

 _“Wait,_ how _-”_

_“It wasn’t in the trash when Maron brought it out, I saw it. And there’s literally nowhere else you could have put it.”_

_… Well then._

_It’s not like he_ doesn’t _know it - he couldn’t sing it on stage and he’s too young for the role anyway, but he_ does _, if anything because he’s heard it for years back before that vinyl ended up in the closet. Also, he’s seen the one they staged at Robb’s company some ten times by now, he thinks he can manage it._

_He clears his throat._

_“[Pura siccome un angelo iddio mi diè una figlia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oD4bOueOejA); se Alfredo nega riedere in seno alla famiglia, l'amato e amante giovane, cui sposa andar dovea, or si ricusa al vincolo che lieti ne rendea... deh, non mutate in triboli le rose dell'amor. Ai preghi miei resistere non voglia il vostro cor.”_

Pure as an angel, God granted me a daughter, if Alfredo doesn’t come back to his family, her beloved and loving young man, who should have married her, will refuse the bond that would have made them happy… please, don’t change into thorns the roses of love, may your heart not resist my prayers, _he sings, not his best performance and he’s pretty sure he’s pronounced a couple words wrong but it’s not like he knew he’d have to do it. Never mind that yes, he’s not singing this before some thirty years,_ if _he actually does it period, but then he looks up at her and wait,_ is she crying _-_

 _The last thing he expects is for his mother to actually - well, she doesn’t sing back at him the immediate reply, but well,_ fuck _, she did know that thing by heart regardless of whether she spoke the language or not, and -_

_“Così alla misera, ch'è un dì caduta, di più risorgere speranza è muta!... se pur benefico le indulga iddio,_ _l'uomo implacabile, per lei sarà…?”_

So all hope is gone for the wretched woman, who fell one day, to ever rise again…! If God had made her happy, will man be merciless for her?

  _And - all right. It’s not professional singing or anything but she’s not going off key, not that much, and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing as he nods, but she starts again and he follows -_

_“[Dite alla giovine sì bella e pura](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cnfiSCEsPdI), ch'avvi una vittima della sventura, cui resta un unico raggio di bene... _ _che a lei il sacrifica, e che morrà!”_

Tell the young girl, so beautiful and pure, that there’s a victim of misfortune, who only had one ray of goodness left, and she’s sacrificing it for her, and she will die, _she says, her voice shaking but not as much as before_ -

_“Sì, piangi, o misera... ~ supremo, il veggo, è il sacrifizio ~ ch'or io ti chieggo... Sento nell'anima già le tue pene..._ _coraggio e il nobile cor vincerà.”_

Yes, cry, unhappy woman, I see that the sacrifice I’m asking of you is great, and I can feel your sufferings in my soul already… have strength and your noble heart will win _, he sings, better than she is, admittedly, but he feels like he could throw up - well, of course_ this _would be his mom’s favorite. He expects for her to stop at that point, but then -_

 _“Or imponete.”_ Now impose.

 _“Non amarlo ditegli.”_ Tell him you don’t love him.

 _“No 'l crederà.”_ He won’t believe that.

 _“Partite.”_ Then leave.

 _“Seguirammi.”_ He would follow.

 _“Allor…”_ Then…

 _“Qual figlia m'abbracciate... Forte così sarò.”_ Then hold me as you would your daughter, and I will be strong, like this.

 _“Tra breve ei vi fia reso, ma afflitto oltre ogni dire... A suo conforto di colà volerete.”_ He will be given back to you shortly, but sad beyond imagination. You will fly to his side to comfort him.

 _“Or che pensate?”_ What are you thinking?

 _“Sapendol, v'opporreste al pensier mio.”_ If you knew, you wouldn’t approve.

 _“Generosa!... e per voi che far poss'io?..”_ Oh, you generous woman, and what can I do for you?

 _Christ, Theon realizes, he’s fairly sure that she hasn’t put any effort into_ anything _period for the last six months, and now - and now she’s not stopping, and she obviously want to sing the last part of that duet with him, and - the moment he remembers exactly what it was about he feels like throwing up, but they’ve gone this far, he’s going to finish since_ she _obviously wants to._

_“Morrò!... la mia memoria non fia ch'ei maledica, se le mie pene orribili vi sia chi almen gli dica. Conosca il sacrifizio ch'io consumai d'amor che sarà suo fin l'ultimo sospiro del mio cor.”_

I will die, but make sure he won’t curse my memory, if someone at least will tell him the horrible suffering I’ve gone through. May he know the sacrifice I made for love, love that will be his until my heart’s last breath -

_“No, generosa, vivere, e lieta voi dovrete; mercé di queste lagrime dal cielo un giorno avrete; premiato il sacrifizio sarà del vostro cor; d'un'opra così nobile andrete fiera allor -”_

No, generous woman, you will live, and happy; Heaven will give you mercy for these tears one day, and the sacrifice of your heart will be rewarded; and you will be proud of such a noble deed -

 _He stops, because given what_ she _has gone through until this point he’s not sure he can go any further, not with_ this _, and he has to wipe at his eyes angrily, but then he looks up at her and there’s tears streaming down her face, and she’s_ not _wiping them -_

 _“Theon,” she tells him, “if you_ dare _waste your life after fish_ I _am disowning you, not your father, and I’m fairly sure you’re better off if_ I _don’t.”_

_“Wow,” he says, “was it that convincing?”_

_“Don’t ask stupid questions. You wanted advice, that was it. Clear?”_

_“Clear,” he chokes, and if his shoulders feel way, way lighter as he walks out of the room and Asha asks him what kind of goddamned miracle did he pull when he was inside it, he barely hears her._

_He goes out on the nearest balcony, then grabs his phone and presses_ one _on speed dial._

_“Robb?” He asks. “I - I think I have news for you.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Theon's singing Germont's aria from _la Traviata_ , [Pura siccome un angelo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oD4bOueOejA) (performance: Leo Nucci as Germont, ROH 1996);  
> \- Subsequently, both he and Alannys are going into the immediately following duet between him and Violetta, [Dite alla giovine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cnfiSCEsPdI) (performance: Anna Netrebko as Violetta, Thomas Hampson as Germont, Salzburg Festival 2005).


	9. Act IV

 

“ _What did you just say_?” Theon feels bad at once for having pretty much screamed his lungs out the moment Sam informed him, given how the poor guy flinches, but listen, you just don’t drop that kind of information on a guy while he’s in his dressing room getting ready for damned opening night in, oh, two hours. “Sorry. That wasn’t _you_.”

“No problem,” Sam immediately says, sighing in relief. “I mean, I should have probably warned you. Anyway, there’s a few agents who definitely have contacts in Edinburgh and one at the ROH, though I wouldn’t bet on that one ever calling - he’s always here on opening night and he’s only ever called Margaery and it was to tell her that he’d be wanting to hear her again in a few years.”

“Oh, so _that_ ’s why she’s pretty much about to give up her own pay as long as Tyrion gives her as much leading roles as possible?”

“Yeah, and for that matter I think Tyrion hopes that this is the year that guy calls her so he gets out of that specific mess. Shit, I don’t envy him. Anyway, I was saying, there’s the agents. But I guess you imagined that already.”

“I _did_. The problem was the _next_ part of your statement.”

“Ah, right, uh, your father called and said that if it’s still true that any cast member has two free tickets to give out for _opening night_ , he wanted them. He wasn’t _too_ happy about it, or at least he didn’t _sound_ too happy while asking, but I couldn’t exactly refuse him.”

“The hell,” Theon says, “he has _never_ showed up in years until now and _this_ is the show he wants them for? Ah, fuck’s sake, I’ll just call Asha, maybe _she_ has a clue. Thanks for warning me, anyway.”

“I figured you’d want to know before you saw him in the audience, if you did, but apparently since you’re in the main five, _your_ opening night tickets are in third row.”

“Even better,” he groans. “Thanks. I’ll call her.”

“Right. Uh, I’ll check on the others, but - good luck.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it,” he sighs, and as soon as Sam gets out he grabs his phone from his coat - Melisandre is going to be here for make-up in ten minutes tops and he needs to warm up his voice and check if Cersei and Robert haven’t murdered themselves and that Robert _hasn’t_ helped himself to any of the drinks in their mini-fridge, because given that their duet has to be sung with the two of them standing very close, he’d rather not smell wine while he sings. He presses number two on speed dial (one is Robb’s number, always has been) and it rings for a couple times before she takes the call.

“Theon? What’s the matter?”

“Sam Tarly just showed up informing me that our father has called and asked for his _free tickets_ on account that he’s related to me. Any idea of _why_ he’d do that just _now_?”

“He - _oh_ ,” she replies, “well, maybe, but I didn’t know he would - never mind. So, Mom said she wanted to come see you but she also said to _not_ tell you because she wanted it to be a surprise in the first place and if she couldn’t make it then you wouldn’t be disappointed.”

The hell - right, that makes sense, given that she’s only divorced their asshole of a father one year ago and she’s spent the last five going in and out of psych wards, and she’s started to recover just recently after moving in with their uncle and cutting all contacts with her former husband. She always told him she wanted to come see him sing, but she never did, for obvious reasons.

“So, uncle Rodrik asked me and I gave him _my_ two free tickets. But I guess -”

“Shit, Father found out and he didn’t want to, like, be a responsible adult and now he’s showing up to see what’s the entire deal and to possibly try and make her feel sorry about having dumped him like she should have years ago?”

“… I guess,” Asha sighs. “Where were your free tickets?”

“Third row.”

“Good, mine were box seats because I wasn’t involved with this one specifically. They won’t see each other. But that’s the most I can tell you. Though you said, he wanted _both_ tickets?”

“So Sam said,” Theon shrugs.

“I’ll try to call a few people and see to find out. Don’t worry, when he shows up I’m setting him straight on possibly ruining things for you, _I_ also have to pay my fucking bills and I don’t need him to fuck things up for both of us, which he _would_ do if he tried to cause a scene.”

“Thank you,” he tells her, and then he has to close the call because Melisandre is knocking.

Shit, the _last_ thing he needs is his father being an asshole when he has to play a guy _in love with another guy_.

Good thing that at least _his_ make-up doesn’t require a lot of time. When Melisandre leaves, he checks his phone to find a text from Asha informing him that their father is coming and apparently bringing their uncle _Euron_ with.

Great. As in, the family member who was mostly against his newfound interest in singing opera back in the day if you wouldn’t count his father.

Well, it’s not as if he can back out now, not when from what he gathered Connington would pay money for _not_ having to cover for him and not when he actually _wants_ to do this, never mind that he and Robb _did_ really want to play it together back in the day when at least _Theon_ hadn’t realized fully that he was in love with him, but sure as hell had had an inkling for a while. And whether he finds the guts to tell him _after_ they’re done (he’s not going to do it before, he doesn’t want to make this possibly awkward if he’s right and Connington’s wrong and Robb doesn’t return his feelings) or not, he doesn’t want to botch the entire thing just because his father is an arse.

And good thing that he’s had enough time to learn _that_ and that he didn’t let it stand in between him and a stage, because if he had done what his father had wanted he’d be way more miserable right now.

He takes a last look at himself and at his threadbare and worn-out military outfit - nothing to say, Melisandre can be weird and her fixation with red is hella creepy but she’s good at costumes other than make-up -, puts on his boots and stalks out of the door. It’s time he goes to check how _bad_ the situation is backstage.

He runs into Jeyne as he sets his foot downstairs - they dressed her like she just walked out of the third _Mad Max_ movie, but in _very_ fitting clothes, and he’s just glad that her mother’s in attendance because he _has_ heard that idiot telling Jeyne she wasn’t _pretty enough_ for lead roles for years just because _she_ couldn’t get beyond secondary roles back when she could sing, period.

“How are things going?” He asks her.

“Er, I’m _this_ sure Stannis is going to murder someone before the curtain’s up.”

“Do I wanna know what happened?”

“He was trying to give Joffrey a few pointers he wouldn’t listen to and then both Cersei and Robert showed up with their costumes buttoned wrong.”

“Don’t you tell me, they had _another_ round of post-breakup-hate-sex _after_ they put them on?”

A moment later -

“This is _opening night_ , for - would it be too much to ask the both of you for _a bare modicum of professionalism_ for once?”

Theon just hopes the doors aren’t open yet because there’s no way someone in the audience _wouldn’t_ have heard that.

“Right,” he says, “best go before he murders me, too,” he jokes, and goes where everyone else is - as in, Stannis, Cersei, Robert, Joffrey and Davos. Davos is looking like he’s _seriously_ concerned for Stannis’s coronaries. Theon can’t blame him - he looks _this_ ready to snap.

“Oh, come on,” Robert starts, “who’s even going to notice? Melisandre’s going to fix it in a moment, for -”

“ _Melisandre_ ,” Stannis hisses, “is in Robb Stark’s dressing room making sure _he_ is fit to go on stage, and given that he’s the _protagonist_ maybe that’s where she should be. Never mind that if you enjoy - _that_ so much, couldn’t you do it _while you were bloody married_ and not after you divorce?”

Cersei shrugs. “The sex is better,” she says, sounding absolutely _not_ apologetic about it.

“Oh, for -”

“Stannis,” Davos interrupts, “I’m fixing the costumes and we’re calling it a night. And _please_ get something to eat or _you_ are going to faint while you’re directing and that’s not what anyone here wants.”

“Thanks,” Stannis says, deflating. “I’m - never mind. I’ll be back in fifteen. For the love of - if _anything_ else goes wrong Lannister isn’t seeing me working for him if he doesn’t pay me three times what I get.”

He stalks towards the stage, probably heading for the bar - right, then they’re still closed.

Davos sighs deeply and turns his eyes to both Robert and Cersei, as if he wants to tell them _something_ , then -

“Never mind. Let’s go to whichever dressing room is the closest, I should be able to fix that. Cersei, you might really want to brush your teeth _before_ you go on stage,” he sighs, and she has the presence of mind to _not_ contradict him. All three of them leave and Joffrey merely shrugs before leaving as well, without excusing himself.

“Please tell me they were both sober,” Theon sighs.

“It seemed like it,” Jeyne confirms. “Meanwhile it sounds like my mother _is_ attending.”

“Mine, too,” Theon echoes. “And my father, too.”

“What? But hadn’t he said -”

“That I was dead to him until I kept on doing a job _for women and faggots_ only, in his lovely words? Sure thing. But apparently since _she_ is coming he also has to show up.”

“And what are you planning to do about it?”

“Pretending he doesn’t exist, as usual.”

“Pretending _who_ doesn’t exist?”

Ah, that’d be Robb. He hadn’t heard him come down the stairs, Theon thinks, and he turns to tell him -

And then his throat seems to go dry at once because until now Robb’s come to rehearsals with his grown-longer-specifically-for-this-production hair tied back so it wouldn’t get in his face, and now he’s let it down loose for the first time and _damn_ but he looks great like this - it falls in thick waves reaching his shoulders, and Melisandre styled it _very_ neatly. It pairs beautifully with the worn-out burgundy and black outfit he’s wearing, true enough - maybe the three of them weren’t such bad choices if the point was post nuclear apocalypse aesthetic.

“Uh,” he finally says, “my father. He’s coming, apparently. Along with my mother.”

Robb’s blue, _blue_ eyes go a fraction wider. “Your _father_? But -”

“I know,” Theon shrugs, “but I’m just going to pretend he’s not there. Don’t worry, I’m not backing out for _him_.”

“Good,” Robb says, “but I wasn’t doubting that. You _never_ actually backed out from anything once you set your mind. Mostly, if you want to tone down a bit -”

“Robb, he _already_ thinks that I’m some kind of deviant, I’m not sacrificing integrity for _him_. I’m fine. Really. I’d rather make sure we give a good performance, maybe it’s the time we get agents.”

Robb _does_ laugh at that. “Yeah, I doubt before the next few years, but then again if one ever calls Margaery’s going to snatch them first.”

“Fair enough. So, are we doing this already?”

The way Robb smiles at him, Theon can feel his knees going slightly weak.

“Sure we are. We said we would a long time ago, didn’t we? By the way, Jeyne, don’t ever let your mother bitch about your looks because that looks _stunning_ on you.”

“Thanks,” she grins, “and you don’t look half bad either. Surely better than Targaryen did in _that_ old production.”

“Tell that to my brother, he’s going to appreciate it.”

 _Obviously_ Jon would appreciate digs at his biological father, though it was a mess Theon has _never_ stepped in during the endless years of teasing each other that they endured - Jon’s _father_ always was too much of a touchy topic. And Jon’s _mother_ as well, for that matter.

“Maybe after we’re done. God, I’m going to warm up some. Hopefully we aren’t getting rotten tomatoes thrown at us from the top of the gallery because they hate the staging.”

“Don’t be _that_ pessimist. Anyhow, good point. I’ll do the same. See you in a bit?”

“Sure,” Theon asks, his throat feeling tight, and he stalks back to his dressing room for the warm-up exercises, too, lest he gets distracted thinking about Robb’s fucking _face_ and hair and smile and about the fact that he’s apparently _not acting_ when it comes to his goddamned feelings about Robb.

Well, good thing he’s playing the _perfect_ role for people not to notice, isn’t it?

—

He goes on stage when it’s time.

He doesn’t even _look_ at the audience once, honestly - they sing and play it the way they had in rehearsals, ambiguous kiss included, and if for a moment as he sang _we’ll live together and die together_ he thinks about that time Robb said he’d let him move in with him and actually pulled through with it, and for a long moment as the screen falls down and the entire scene goes dark he thinks, _everyone is going to hate it_.

Instead, people start clapping wildly _before_ the music’s over and while he knows that Stannis is most probably feeling like stabbing the first audience member behind him with his baton because he _hates_ it when people clap before the music’s over, he can only breathe out in utter relief as Robb does the same and they’re still clutching to each other, just before they get a cue from Davos and they have to run backstage where Cersei’s already standing, staring daggers at them - right. It’s her great scene now and Theon has to be out again barely after she’s done, but _never mind_.

“Wow,” Jon Arryn tells them, showing up from _nothing_ dressed as the Great Inquisitor - or better, the post-apocalyptic-modern version of the Great Inquisitor, “kids, you’re bringing the house down. Now as long as neither of you has _news_ for the intermission, that’ll be great.”

“Intermission?” Theon asks nervously.

“ _When_ did you think his aunt told everyone else she was pregnant?”

Suddenly, Theon _can_ see even more clearly why Connington does _not_ want to sing this part. Perfectly. Robb looks like he’s about to blanch. “Er, not from either of us.”

“Good. If we don’t have any from either Cersei or Robert there’s some hope this might end up better than the last time,” he says, and then they’re swamped by all the girls in the chorus and Cersei’s walking out on stage and he has to get ready in order not to miss his cue - Jon Arryn nods at them and disappears _somewhere_ backstage.

“Right,” Robb says, “I’m getting some water before I have to go out on stage again. You go and _nail_ it, okay? And don’t let Cersei grab at your arm, she’s going to leave bruises if she does.”

Theon shudders, thinking of the ones that stayed on Robb’s arm for a _month_ during last year’s _Trovatore_.

“I think she hates you more than she’ll ever hate _me_ , but fair enough, I won’t.”

Robb smiles at him and squeezes his shoulder, then runs upstairs.

Theon breathes in and waits for his cue.

—

They get through act one without a hitch, which _should_ have been enough to raise suspicions - _nothing_ ever goes without a hitch in this company on opening night for good. Usually you go backstage to find out _someone_ has argued with someone else or whatever, but this round, as they take a pause in between act one and two (the full intermission is after two), it’s just people complimenting them, pats on the back and so on before five minutes pass and Robb has to go out for his duet with Cersei in what Mance fancied was a post-nuclear apocalypse excuse for a forest.

Theon _does_ notice that Joffrey looks a bit _weird_ , but never mind that. Joffrey creeps him out, always has, always did, and he doesn’t think much of it. He’s mostly relieved that Robert _was_ in fact sober and that their duet went off without a hitch, too. And he has to _not_ miss his cue - he comes in at the right moment, and he _does_ notice, when she storms out of the stage, that Robb’s arms _are_ covered in bruises when he comes closer to him and holds his wrists gently.

Fuck, but they have to hurt, he thinks as Robb looks straight at him and smiles sadly.

“No, tu sei la mia speranza, questo cor che sì t'amò a te chiudere non so - in te posi ogni fidanza; sì, questi fogli importanti ti do, io m’abbandono a te.”

 _No, you’re my hope. This heart that loved you so well, I cannot close to you. I put all trust in you; yes, have these important papers. I am putting myself in your hands,_ Robb’s singing, his voice turning so _soft_ for a moment that Theon’s heart falters for a moment, and he can’t help thinking, _I wish_ , or better, _I wish I could_ , and that’s not something Robb should sing while Theon’s fingers are skimming over the red nail dents left on his pale skin.

Shit. He _has_ to tell him.

But not now.

 _You can trust me_ , he sings back, and they run backstage as the screen falls down, again.

Now there’s that damned _huge_ scene where Carlo manages to get himself arrested.

He thinks about how Cersei had looked at Robb ten minutes previous.

It was with - hatred, Theon supposes, but it wasn’t _pure_ acting.

He’ll keep his eyes open.

—

And good thing he does, because [in the midst of that mess](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdOCYIOEnrc), just as he’s about to move closer to Robb since _he_ has to convince Carlo to lay down arms and he needs to not be on the other side of the stage, he notices Joffrey moving so that his prop sword is right in Robb’s way, and obviously Robb’s not going to look at it since he’s singing towards Robert, who’s _on the other side of the stage_ , and he won’t look at his back. And he’s standing on _stairs_ , which means that if his foot catches the blade he’s going to fall on his goddamned back.

 _Shit_ , he thinks, and after he runs closer in the midst of the mess and everyone in the choir while trying to _not miss the bloody cue_ , he does manage to move that fucking prop out of Robb’s way.

Too bad that _he_ crashes down the last two steps of the stairs, and he manages to not land on his back just because he has _very_ good equilibrium, but he can fucking _hear_ and feel his ankle as it _crunches_ the moment he stands back up again.

 _Shit_.

 _Shit, shit, shit_ , he thinks, but - it’s minutes until this act is over. He can think of the rest during the intermission, he decides, and he swallows his bile and sings his part, taking Robb’s sword as he walks up the stairs, swallowing his pain, and he only curses to the heavens the moment the curtain falls down.

—

“ _Fuck_ , fuck, _fuck_ ,” he screams the moment he hears applause die down, and he’s not surprised that Cersei actually walked out on stage for a mid-time curtain call, while he, Robb and Jeyne certainly did _not_ , not when he’s sitting down on the stairs feeling like his entire leg is on fire.

“ _The hell_ , Joffrey?” Robb shouts - he _did_ take notice of the scene, after all. “Stay still, I’m getting this off.”

Theon grits his teeth as Jeyne says she’s going to call for the nurse and both Mance, Stannis, Davos and Jon Arryn rush on stage.

“ _Shit_ ,” Robb says as he looks down at his leg, and Theon sees immediately why - his ankle is swollen, it looks way larger than it should be at any given time and it’s _red_. In short, it looks terrible.

“Hey, I didn’t do anything,” Joffrey says, but it sounds weak.

“ _Please_ ,” Stannis says, “I saw your ruse, do you think I don’t look at the stage?”

“Christ,” Davos echoes him, “how much does that hurt?”

There’s no point in lying.

“A lot,” Theon sighs. “Fuck. _Fuck_. Then again, it could be worse.”

“Worse?” Davos asks. “The hell -”

“It was in Robb’s way,” Theon grunts. “If I hadn’t done it, he’d have caught it with the _back_ of his leg and honestly, better my ankle than his fucking head.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it!” Joffrey keeps on, raising his hands.

“What’s all this whining?” Cersei asks, coming back from her _curtain call_.

“ _You_ sing with _that_ , then call it fucking whining,” Theon spits at her. “And it was _your_ son’s fault, so how about you just shut your damned mouth?”

“Greyjoy, I knew your manners were lacking -”

“Cersei,” Robb interrupts her, and he sounds like he wants to _murder_ her, “given that Joffrey was about to make sure that you and I never co-starred in _anything_ ever again, whether it was on purpose or not, maybe you should _really_ stop talking. Christ, I’m sorry,” he says, and of course he means it, and Theon about wants to cry because he _had_ looked forward to singing this entirely, but given that his ankle hurts if he even just _moves_ it -

“Let me look,” Missandei, their nurse, says as she makes her way through Stannis and Davos. “Wow. That’s nasty,” she says, touching it. Theon doesn’t scream just because he bites down on his tongue. “ _But_ ,” she says after prodding at him for a bit and asking him a few questions, “there’s nothing broken, I think. It hurts a lot because you definitely sprained it, but that’s about it.”

 _Better than nothing_ , he decides.

“Well, good, but I didn’t need it, _period_ ,” he sighs.

“What the hell has even happened,” Tyrion Lannister suddenly says as he appears from the backstage door, walking quickly up to where he’s laying down. “And what is _that_ ,” he says with the horror that only a manager who might get opening night screwed up in the season when he had to _make a profit_ could muster.

“Well, your nephew over there had his sword put in a way that might have put Robb out of commission had he fallen on it, so I made him move it, and shit happened,” Theon groans.

For a moment, Theon is sure Joffrey _will_ try to defend himself.

Except that a moment later Tyrion stands and - _slaps him in the face_?

“What -” Joffrey blurts.

“Tyrion, _what are you_ -”

“Cersei, _don’t you say a word_. I know you put him up to it so you’d just better _not talk_. And _you_ , just - are you both completely out of your mind? If this opening goes wrong we lose _half_ of the sponsors for this year and I have to put on _more_ performances for everyone, which will strain _all_ of your voices because as you might have realized we aren’t exactly being able to afford _substitutes_ , damn it! What the hell was even the point, making sure Stark’s out of commission so that _half_ of our entire season is fucked because _he_ ’s singing half of the dramatic leads? Did you want to make Cat angry because _she_ got lead roles and you didn’t?” He’s staring at Cersei now, but she doesn’t dare replying. “Well, fuck this noise. Someone warn Connington that he might have to step up, I’m not sending him back on stage like _that_.”

“Theon?” Gilly suddenly asks, coming on the stage. “Oh, _damn_ ,” she says, taking in the situation. She has a piece of paper in her hands.

“What’s that?” Theon asks.

“Your mother sent it. Or well, she gave it to Val and asked if anyone might give this to you, Val gave it to me and - I see it’s not a good moment.”

“’S okay,” he says, “just give it over.”

She moves closer and does, while Davos is dialing Jon Connington’s number and calling him, and Robb looks devastated as he sits down next to him. He opens the message - it’s a small piece of paper from a notebook, folded in two. It’s also short and hastily written, but -

 

 _My dear,_ it reads, _I had been wondering how good you were for years - I heard you practicing a few times, before - well, you know - and I knew you had to be good, but I couldn’t imagine that you would be this good. You made me cry twice already and honestly, you were right when you decided to go for it instead of listening to your father. I didn’t even know that this opera existed but I bought it when I was sure I could come and you are a thousand times better than whichever singer on my record, and Robb is too - I can’t wait to see your big scene next act!!!_

 

_Mom_

 

His first instinct is throwing up.

The second is bursting out in tears.

He does neither - he breathes in once, twice, and thinks about how disappointed she will feel when they announce that he cannot do act three, and about how she was _absolutely_ supportive of his life choice and lied to his father for the entire first year when he took singing lessons without even hearing him, and about that time they sang together in her sterile, white hospital room, and then he looks back at the message, and -

“Yeah,” Davos says, “it’s bad. If you could cover for him next act -”

 _To me, that’s the saddest part I’ve ever played and just the idea of doing it again makes me feel miserable_ , Connington had said.

Theon thinks about it for a moment, and then -

“Davos, no.”

“It would be - wait a moment. Sorry?”

“He doesn’t need to come.”

“Theon, you can’t think of -”

“I _can_ think of,” he groans. “Missandei, can you wrap that _real_ tight and find me good painkillers?”

She looks up at him, her hands keeping an ice bag on his ankle. “Well, yeah, I have some. I guess I can keep this on your ankle until I can get away with it, and then I could. But are you sure? You shouldn’t walk on it.”

“Well,” he says, “after all, next act - Robert and Jon Arryn are on their own for a good half hour anyway, and I only have a short part. Then I have to fucking _die_ anyway and I’m singing half of that scene lying on the goddamned ground. I can just - dunno, kneel instead of standing for the first part. Or Robb can hold me up or _something_.”

“Kneeling would work,” Davos says. “Someone has to shoot you in the back anyway.”

“Yeah, _well_. I’ll keep ice on it until Jon Arryn’s done with his part or as long as we can get away with, then you’re wrapping it and I’m going. Really. I can handle it.”

“Are you _sure_?” Tyrion asks. “If you hurt yourself -”

“I _already_ hurt myself, Lannister. Can someone find me these fucking painkillers already? Robb can hold the ice bag.”

Robb does it at once and Missandei nods at him before saying she’ll be back with some in a minute.

Theon doesn’t even try to _not_ tell Robb - he hands over the message as he relishes in the feeling of the ice on his burning skin, and he notices Robb’s eyes widen in understanding as he reads it. “I get it,” he says, “just - don’t put too much effort into standing. If you need help to walk around or anything just lean on me or something. Fuck, I’m _sorry_ ,” he says. “But I’m also glad I get to finish this with you.”

Theon smiles back at him, feeling like his heart has grown three sizes.

“Me, too. Really.”

He’s glad enough of it that he doesn’t even listen to _everyone else_ having both Joffrey and Cersei’s hide.

—

Missandei is true to her word - her painkillers are _good_ , and by the time Robert’s gone through his main scene and he’s had two pills, his ankle bandaged so tight it hurts more than the actual sprain and he’s put his boot back on, he thinks that he _can_ get through this without fainting. Shit, thankfully the next performance is _three days_ from now, not two. Might be that if he rests he can heal up enough to star in all the ones that were scheduled. Too bad that his head starts spinning slightly at the end of his scene with Robert, Cersei and Jeyne, and he has someone hand him the information leaflet for those pills when he’s gone backstage.

 _Shit_ , he thinks as he reads that _it was recommended to take them with food_ and that side effects might be headaches and nausea.

Of course he took them on an empty stomach.

_Of course his head is spinning._

Well, he just has to go back out when Cersei and Jeyne are done with their duet and sing his grand aria, _the_ one, while his foot throbs even if he can barely feel it, while his head is _definitely_ spinning and when if he fucks it up it’s going to be _obvious_.

Great.

Just fucking great.

He sits and drinks some water.

If anything, he’s going to save his bloody strength. Robb’s nowhere to be seen, but he has to be behind bars and the cage is showing up from beneath, so he’s probably under the stage right now.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, and drinks the last of the bottle.

—

When he walks on stage fifteen minutes later, his head is hurting so much he could weep.

Good thing he’s a fucking _professional_ , or so he thinks he is, and he walks slowly on stage, staring at Robb, who’s pretending to be asleep behind the prison’s bars - they’re supposed to be in some old police station that’s not been used for a while and where political prisoners are thrown rather than in a dungeon.

It’s me, my Carlo, he sings, glad to hear that he’s _not_ going off-key as long as he focuses.

And then he feels like someone stabbed him in the heart as Robb stands up at once, singing that he’s grateful that he’s come to his prison and that he has no worth for the living anymore.

He grins as he produces the keys to the door and opens it, relishing the moment when he’ll be able to fall on his knees and taking weight off his damned foot.

“Ah! Noto appien ti sia l'affetto mio - uscir tu déi da quest'orrendo avel… felice ancora son se abbracciar te poss'io! Io ti salvai!”

 _Ah, may my love be fully known to you! You have to leave this horrid place, and I’m still happy if I can hold you! I saved you,_ he sings, not even bothering to keep his voice from sounding fond as he opens the door and throws his arms around Robb, who lowers him to the ground carefully, the both of them kneeling, as he sings, _what are you saying_?, and he replies, _we should better say goodbye._

Robb blinks and looks at him as if he doesn’t understand and fine, he’s a good actor. A _very_ good actor.

Theon is _beyond_ acting as he cracks a smile and breathes in and doesn’t miss his cue for his biggest scene.

“[Per me giunto è il dì supremo, no, mai più ci rivedremo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lU15moPykz8); ci congiunga iddio nel ciel, ei che premia i suoi fedel; Sul tuo ciglio il pianto io miro; lagrimar, lagrimar così, perché? No, fa' cor, l'estremo spiro, l’estremo spiro lieto è a chi morrà per te.”

 _The last day has come for me,_ he starts, slow, and he probably _sounds_ like he’s suffering more than he had planned to - not all bad news are for nothing, he supposes. _And we shall never see each other again; may God join us in heaven, He who rewards his faithful men._ ” He breathes, still staring at Robb, whose eyes are _wet_ \- what the hell? He’s probably making it up. _I see tears in your eyes, why , why would you cry so? No, be happy, the last breath, the last breath is joyful for the one who dies for you_ ,” he goes on, his hands grabbing at Robb’s shoulders, one of them cupping the back of his neck, running through his hair as he says all over again, _for the one who dies for you_ , until he lets his voice hold the last note until the music’s faded and Stannis’s hands aren’t moving, and Robb’s hands are grasping at his waist.

 _What’s all this talk about death?_ , Robb sings back, one of his hands going to Theon’s cheek, and they rehearsed it for a month but _now_ it feels different, so different, and might it be that Connington was _right_? But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t -

Never mind. He needs to finish this, and not to miss the damned queue.

 _Listen, time is wasting. The terrible lightening is upon me. You aren’t the king’s rival anymore, not today. The proud agitator of the Flanders… that’s me!_ , he says, attempting to stand. Robb gets the hint and grabs at his arm, helping him up.

 _Who would even believe that?_ , he sings back.

 _The proof is terrible. Your papers that they found on me… they’re clear about the rebellion, and there’s a bounty on my head already,_ Theon sings, shaking his head, and fuck, _fuck_ , they’re almost there, _almost_ -

 _I want to tell the king everything,_ Robb sings.

Right. _Right._

 _No, save yourself for the Flanders…_ , he sings, and then he throws his arms around Robb, mostly holding on to him because he needs to stand but also because it might be that he’s not thinking straight but he wants him _close_ , damn it -

“Ti serba alla grand'opra, tu la dovrai compir... Un nuovo secol d'ôr rinascer tu farai, regnare tu dovevi ed io morir per te.”

 _Save yourself for the great deed, you have to finish it… a new golden century shall be born under your reign, you had to reign and I was supposed to die for you_ , he sings, slow but steady, and when he hears a gunshot from behind him he doesn’t really have to pretend that his legs falter and that he’s crashing to the ground - Robb catches him, of course, and a moment later he’s lying on the ground with Robb’s arm supporting his shoulders, his back over Robb’s bent knees and his legs finally lying on the ground, Robb’s other arm holding his waist.

 _Oh, Carlo, listen, your mother waits for you in San Giusto tomorrow; she knows everything… Ah! I can't feel the earth anymore… my Carlo, give me your hand!_ , he sings as he slams his hand over the one Robb has around his waist.

Right.

 _Right_.

“Io morrò, ma lieto in core, ché potei così serbar alla Spagna un salvatore! Ah!... di me... non... ti... scordar!… Addio -”

 _I will die, but with a happy heart, because then I could save Spain’s hero_ , he sings, half-amazed at himself for not going off-key since his head his hurting so much that he could cry. He’s probably crying. At least it’s not hurting the cause. _Ah, don’t forget me_ , he goes on, and maybe his voice cracks on the last word but he’s not going off key yet, and then Robb’s arms grab around him tighter as the music from their earlier duet plays, and -

 _Don’t forget me_ , he presses on. _You had to reign and I was supposed to die for you_ , he sings again, relishing the feeling of Robb’s skin against his own or his other hand that’s now running along his cheek, shaking with every note that’s coming out of his mouth. _I will die, but with a happy heart_ , _because then I could save Spain’s hero_ , he goes again, and then _ah, don’t forget me, don’t, don’t -_ , he goes, and he’s looking up at Robb’s _devastated_ eyes, and he can’t help thinking, either he’s _better_ than he had ever noticed, and he doesn’t think so because he’s known Robb for years and he thinks he can distinguish it, and _maybe this is what Connington had meant_ , he thinks, and he only has one more line before he has to pretend to be dead, but -

 _But_ -

 _If Rodrigo was_ really _in love with Carlo that much_ , comes the thought, right into his pounding skull, _and he’s about to die, would he miss his last chance of -_

No.

No, he wouldn’t, Theon decides, and he thinks he’s gotten inside this damned self-sacrificing asshole’s head far enough to guess right, and -

Fuck it.

 _Save the Flanders_ , he sings, _goodbye -_

And then instead of letting his eyes roll back and close them and letting himself go limp in Robb’s arms, he raises his arm with a force he didn’t know he had in him because he’s feeling so weak he could faint for real, and he throws it behind Robb’s neck and surges up and in the original plan Robb was supposed to lean down and kiss him on the forehead after he died, but now he’s pressing his mouth against Robb’s firmly, _not_ ambiguously and with all the last of the strength a real dying man might have in him, and then he smiles at Robb as the music dies down and he finally, _finally_ lets his eyes close and falls back down, Robb’s arms still holding him close.

For a moment he expects booing.

What he gets, instead, is that Stannis has to stop the music because _the entire damned theater is clapping so hard he almost feels the stage shake_ and he doesn’t dare open his eyes, but he figures that as far as on-stage deaths, this is the best one he’s ever had.

Now he just hopes Robb doesn’t murder him for it.

\--

That said, it cannot happen _for now_ \- he lies down on the ground until the screen falls before the last set change and at that point he lets Davos drag him out.

“Well,” Davos whispers as he helps him, “that was _certainly_ theatrical.”

“Fuck,” Theon blurts, “I feel like I’m gonna vomit.”

“What?”

“Those pills, I should’ve taken them with food. My head is about to explode, damn it.”

“Are you completely - never mind.” Davos sits him down on a chair, _gently_. Thankfully. “I’m going to get you something to eat. Don’t move, but I guess it’d too much for you right now. _Hopefully_.”

Theon nods, and for a moment nothing happens, and a moment later Robb’s in front of him and he’s wiping at his eyes, and _what_ -

“You _fucking idiot_ ,” Robb blurts, his hands suddenly going to Theon’s face, “you could have _said_!”

“What -”

“Theon, that wasn’t fucking _acting_ ,” Robb interrupts him. “And believe me, I’m not the one complaining, but do you think that’s how I wanted to find out you actually _like me back_? When I’m worried that you might fucking faint on me at any minute, and then you end up almost frenching me on stage?”

He shrugs, minutely. “I felt like - wait, you _like me back_?”

“Oh, for - I’ve got to go back on stage in a few, Jeyne’s almost done singing, but just so you fucking know -” He says, and then he leans down and _crashes his mouth against Theon’s_ , his tongue pushing against his for a moment, and then he leans back. “I’m just going to fucking show you properly later. And by the way, _I wasn’t acting either_ ,” he says, smiling for a moment, and then he rushes back towards the stage.

Theon just stays _there_ , his hand going to his mouth, wondering if he dreamed it or not -

And when Davos comes back with some energy bar he found in the vending machine, he’s grinning so wide it hurts.

“Is that the pills or is that _Robb Stark_?” Davos asks, smirking.

Theon grabs the food.

“It was Robb,” he grins. “Maybe I really should’ve told him a long time ago.”

“Well, I owe you a drink.”

“… Why would you?”

“Because I bet with Jaime Lannister that you two _would_ fess up at some point before opening night was over. And I bet him a _lot_ of money. Enjoy your dinner,” he grins, and then he goes back to keep an eye on the scene.

 _Well then_ , he says, figuring he’ll take it philosophically, _at least I’m getting free drinks out of it_.

Still, he can’t wait for this damned thing to be over so they can _talk_ -

“ _That_ wasn’t what I thought when I said you should tell him,” Jon Connington suddenly says, appearing from the emergency exit.

“What - what are you doing _here_?”

“I was behind the curtain just in case there was any need. But let me tell you, I _wish_ I had had the guts to do that back in the day.”

“I wasn’t even thinking straight.”

“Well, that was spectacular.” A hand squeezes his shoulder for a moment before it’s gone. “And see, told you Stark wasn’t _acting_.”

Theon _can’t_ deny that now. “Fine, but I think I got why you don’t want to sing that part anymore.”

“Did you?”

“If he _hadn’t_ liked me back I’d have felt like shit in that position.”

“At least someone does. Well, enjoy your curtain call, I think you earned it.”

“Sorry?”

“… Never mind. You’ll notice in about ten minutes,” he smirks, and then he goes back out.

Theon doesn’t dwell on it and eats the damned granola bar.

\--

“Come on,” Robb tells him as the chorus bows, “you managed to sing with that goddamned sprained ankle, you can go out.”

“Shit,” Theon gasps, standing up and holding to Robb’s arm, “can’t I just skip?”

Robb sends him a totally baffled look. “Of course _not_.”

“Why? I’m not even the main -”

“You’re a goddamned idiot,” Robb smiles. “Just you wait. Good thing we’re getting out of the same side. Come on.”

Theon hobbles along until they reach Roslin Frey, Jon Arryn and Robert - Joffrey, Jorah Mormont, Ashara Dayne, Cersei and Jeyne are on the opposite one.

“You’re coming out after Cersei and before Jeyne,” Robb tells him, “and we’re _talking_ later.”

“Robb -”

“Just you wait,” Robb grins again, and Theon figures he will. Joffrey walks out, and tries to overstay his welcome, but never mind that. Ashara does as well, _not_ overstaying it - she’s nice like that. Roslin does the same, and then Jon Arryn leaves them and is _very_ well-applauded, but then again he’s _good_ and he’s been here for years, people do know him. Cersei walks out as soon as he takes his place next to Ashara, but she’s obviously not too pleased that she doesn’t get a full-on standing ovation; still, she’s given flowers by someone in the orchestra and she takes her sweet time with that.

Then she finally moves back next to Joffrey.

“ _Go_ ,” Robb says, pretty much pushing him out, and first people were clapping mildly as they do in-between the singers coming out, but the moment he shows up -

He glances at the audience.

People _stand_.

They’re clapping harder than they had for any of the others, someone is shouting _bravo_ from the balcony and that’s definitely not his mother, and he tries to bow even if his damned leg is really about to give out, someone throws flowers at him and the moment he tries to stand back they clap _harder_ and -

Fuck, is _he_ getting the longest applause yet? He wipes at his eyes, smiles and _means_ it, applauds as well before bowing once again and moving back and leaving his place to Jeyne, who gets a _very_ warm reception, warmer than Cersei and with more flowers, but not -

Not as much as _he_ did.

Shit.

He can’t stop smiling even if he feels ridiculous, and his head is still pounding but not as much, and he has to lean on Jon Arryn because he _really_ is about to crash on the ground. Robert comes out and he’s met with wild applause as well, which is also predictable given that whatever you say about him he’s _really_ good at what he does, though -

Still, not as much as _he_ did.

And when Robb walks out with his damp hair stuck to his neck, he’s met with _almost_ equal wild applause, and he definitely stands there as long as _he_ did, but -

 _Almost_ equal.

Shit, he really outshone everyone else? He can’t bloody believe it, but he might have, he _might_ , and he wishes he could see his father’s face and ask, _who is going to amount to nothing now_?

And then Robb walks next to him and grabs his hand, but that’s just routine, he’s going to grab Jeyne’s the moment they all come forward.

Except that Robb threads their fingers together, and then he leans closer, and whispers -

“See what I meant?”

“I wasn’t _that_ good,” he whispers back.

“You were _better_ than _that good_ ,” Robb smirks, and then they’re walking forward to take their collective bow, and then Jeyne leaves their side to go get Stannis even if Stannis has always grumbled about damned etiquette and not wanting any soprano to fucking collect him.

And then looks at Robb, who looks overjoyed, and he feels the same, and -

“Shit, we nailed it, didn’t we?” He whispers.

“We did,” Robb smiles, and then -

Then _the mad idiot grabs at his neck and kisses him full and on his mouth right on stage, what the -_

For a moment the clapping dies down but then he starts _harder_.

“The hell?” Theon whispers when Robb leans back.

“You did it to me once, it was obligatory,” Robb grins, and then he kisses him _again_ just before they have to bow again, and again, and then the curtain has finally fallen down and he pretty much lets himself fall over - good thing Robb does grab him around the waist again.

“You damned show-off,” Theon pants, feeling like he’s run completely out of breath.

“ _You_ damned show-off,” Robb replies, “ _you_ about frenched me on stage first.”

“You’re sickening,” Jeyne tells him, patting him on the back, “but good thing you figured out, I’ve been wondering when you would since Robb and I broke it off.”

“ _What_ ,” Robb sputters.

“You were obvious. And your boyfriend here needs to sit.”

“Right,” Robb agrees, and leads him to a chair after winking at Cersei, who looks _absolutely_ livid. Well, it certainly did backfire, whatever it was that she was planning.

“What do you think our local reviews will say tomorrow?” Theon grins.

“Oh, they’re going to love you, Varys is going to pretend he didn’t like half of this but at the end he will, and Baelish will just rant about how much any production without my mother in it sucks, and you know that,” Robb replies. “And if you want to kiss me for the other performances, you’re _absolutely_ welcome to.”

“Good to know,” Theon breathes, and he means it.

“Hey,” Davos tells them, “Theon, if you both don’t mind, I think you’ve got a visit.”

“I’ve - _oh_ ,” he says, immediately realizing. “If it’s my father -”

“Oh, your father was about to cause some riot when you two kissed on stage, but Clegane dragged him out. Him and your uncle. So, he’s not coming. Your mother, though -”

“Sure, let her in,” he says, knowing he couldn’t walk to his dressing room right now.

“Do you want me to leave?” Robb asks.

“No,” Theon shakes his head, and a moment later Davos is coming back, giving his arm to -

Well.

He hasn’t seen her in some six months, since she moved in with his uncle, but she’s been doing _great_ since, he thinks. She’s gained some weight, she dyed her hair black again, she’s wearing a dark blue _very_ elegant dress that actually looks new - did she buy it specifically to come here? - and she looks like she’s cried for the last hour or so.

“Don’t tell me that you cried,” he says weakly.

“I _did_ ,” she replies, “and you were _beyond_ good. Robb,” she says, nodding at him.

“Alannys. Nice to see you doing so well.”

“Thank you, I could say the same. I suppose that all that kissing on stage wasn’t acting, was it?”

“No,” Robb confirms. “Not on my part at least.”

She grins. “Good. I was hoping you two would figure it out.”

“Was _the entire planet_ hoping we’d figure it out?” Theon groans.

“I think so,” Robb says. “Well, means we need to do some more catching up. You think we can bribe Tyrion into switching one of those dramas for _Un ballo in maschera_? Because that’d work if you want to kiss me on stage again.”

“Yeah, and it would if you want me to upstage you, _again_.”

“Well, _good thing that_ ,” Robb laughs, “I don’t _want_ people to notice me for these dramas anyway.”

“Theon, I think your boyfriend is nowhere near enough of a primadonna for this job,” his mother says, but she’s _grinning_ and fuck, he thinks he’s about to faint but this is the best evening of his life, swollen ankle or not.

“I think that’s why I like him,” Theon grins, and then Robb offers Alannys a backstage tour if she’d like it while he waits for the nurse to come check his ankle.

“Nothing bad, I hope?” Alannys asks, sounding worried. “When they said you were going to perform anyway -”

“Nah,” he replies, staring at her first and at Robb later, and then he adds, _absolutely_ meaning it, “and it was worth every damned moment.”

It really, really was.

And he can’t wait to _almost french_ Robb on stage for the next three weeks.

He really can’t.

 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Theon gets injured during the [Auto da fe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdOCYIOEnrc) act III finale (performance: Placido Domingo as Carlo, Mirella Freni as Elisabetta, Nicolai Ghiaurov as Philippe, Louis Quilico as Rodrigo, MET opera, 1974);  
> \- The infamous Rodrigo death scene is [Per me giunto è il dì supremo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lU15moPykz8) and subsequent _Morrò ma lieto in core (performance: Dmitry Hvorostovsky as Rodrigo and Stefano Secco as Carlo, Wien Staatsoper, 2015)._


	10. Curtain Call

_**The Musical Spider** _

 

_**Apocalyptically Good? Winterfell’s** _ **Don Carlo _Might Just Be_**

 

_By Varys_

 

 

Our beloved _Winterfell_ opera company might have only two new titles in their season this year, but they certainly went _above and beyond_ with their opening title of the season, Verdi’s _Don Carlo_ ; admittedly, not in its _full_ entirety, but then again they never pretended to hire dancers other than singers, so we couldn’t expect the ballets, alas.

Still, even if with its faults, it certainly was a _remarkable_ production; admittedly, Mance Rayder’s staging was jarring in the beginning, but then again keeping in mind that he’s not a director who’s ever staged a nice, old production, we _should_ have expected the post-nuclear wasteland apocalyptic tone. _Admittedly_ , as jarring as it is in the beginning, at least there’s an idea and a, we could say, _conception_ behind it that eventually sold the entire thing - as long as you forget that it’s supposed to be an historical piece, but then again if the point was creating a buzz, shall we say, it certainly hit the target. Admittedly, we could have done without half of the gratuitous nudity, but alas, that’s how you _create a buzz_ these days. And we can suppose that the nuclear apocalypse doesn’t leave much room for modesty.

However, the staging choices were certainly bold enough, at least when concerning one specific matter, which we will discuss in due time. For the rest, there’s not much to be said about either Roslin Frey or Ashara Dayne, who were, respectively, a very correct Tebaldo and Heavenly Voice; Joffrey Baratheon didn’t do badly in his two minor roles, even though one sincerely has doubts about whether he _can_ handle playing the Duke of Mantua when we will be delighted to hear _Rigoletto_ next year, as he’s been confirmed as the lead. Still, one might be wrong and April is months away. His father, instead, is always a delight to listen to - he owned Philippe twenty-odd years ago and he owns it now, and we admittedly _do_ sorely hope that he has a chance to play Falstaff again soon, but that’s neither here nor there. Jeyne Westerling was a lovely surprise as Elisabetta - she has never lead a piece until now, and seeing her shine in such a difficult and heavy role giving a very correct and at times very moving performance certainly makes us hope to see her improving even more in the future. Cersei Lannister was a very good Eboli years ago and still is now; of course, she _could_ do without singing notes that aren’t in the score, but she probably _does_ feel a tad limited in that role. Maybe she won’t feel the need to when we’ll see her as Azucena again in January - here’s to hoping. Admittedly, though, none of their characters was the subject of any bold staging choice: they behaved the way as they would have in any other production, post-apocalyptic or not.

The true touch of genius, though, was in the _one_ bold staging choice: it’s certainly no news that someone would choose to interpret _Don Carlo_ as full of homoerotic subtext _at least_ when it comes to the relationship between Carlo and Rodrigo di Posa - the language itself is ambiguous enough. But it’s common to see a director actually going _there_ when it comes to the staging, or at least not explicitly: instead, the choice to have Posa _obviously_ in love with Carlo and the latter only realizing he reciprocated it in Posa’s last moments definitely paid off, as it gave the drama an entire other layer of interpretation and, admittedly, fit perfectly with both the aesthetic choice. Then again, it wouldn’t have paid off if not for the two singers, who pulled an admittedly amazing performance. Robb Stark, _for once_ , didn’t look like he’d rather sing _something else_ half of the time, which is probably the one reason we haven’t seen him singing outside the company, or someone _would_ have snatched him up since he has the right looks and the right voice and is usually only hindered by how bored he looks whenever he’s on stage but not singing. This time, though, he was there heart and soul, and the performance certainly gained from it. He would have been the absolute star of the evening, if his on-stage partner (and, we suppose, _life_ partner, given their antics during the curtain call?) hadn’t absolutely blown _everyone_ out of the water with his performance as Rodrigo.

Now, on this column, we’ve been saying for _years_ that Greyjoy is one of the strongest assets of this particular company - given that he’s that kind of baritone that only comes once in a while who can sing anything he sets his mind to including bass occasionally and that he’s also an exceeding good actor, it was high time he was put in the right position to shine, and the fact that he delivered a near flawless performance when he sang a _Per me giunto è il dì supremo_ that made half of the place weep with a sprained ankle after a bad fall during the previous act only reassures us of that opinion. And even before then, he had given us a superb and heartbreaking performance - I hadn’t heard such a good Rodrigo outside the main circuit in years, and he might have definitely beaten his predecessor in the same company: Jon Connington had nailed the role in that last production, but Greyjoy _owned_ it, and we can only hope he keeps on singing it in the future. Definitely the best out of the entire cast, and the presence that made this production _very_ good and definitely worth a trip to Edinburgh just to see it rather than a merely good staging with good singers.

All in all, this has been a far better opening than I had feared, given the premises. We should hope that the only new other production, _Iphigenie in Tauris_ , early next year, has half as good staging choices, even if _maybe_ we would rather spare ourselves a post-apocalyptic Ancient Greece.

 

 

**The Lyrical Mockingbird**

 

**_Truly, an Apocalypse: This Don Carlo Was Not Meant To Be_ **

 

_By Petyr Baelish_

 

 

If _this_ is what Tywin Lannister thinks is a good _new production,_ it’s probably a good thing that Winterfell only has two new ones this year and for the rest is giving us the same re-heated, same old money-grabbers _again_ \- so Robb Stark and Cersei Lannister are Manrico and Azucena again, _what news._

 Anyhow, this _Don Carlo_ is just about shameful: first of all it makes no sense at all to set an _historical drama_ in a post-apocalyptic wasteland that seems out of some dumb action movie - I don’t know who is rolling harder in his grave in between Schiller and Verdi, but one thing is sure: the both of them are doing it. And I could have done without all that gratuitous nudity - where is the sense of decency these days?

Anyhow, one would wish that at least the cast and the _staging choices_ would make up for the rest of this fiasco: alas, it was not so. Joffrey Baratheon is passable in his two minor roles - one should hope that he’s good enough to handle _Rigoletto_ next year. One wonders why Robb Stark just won’t do it, given that at least he has the right voice for it, but that’s neither here nor there. Roslin Frey was a passable Tebaldo, but nothing that will be remembered in the ceturies. Jon Arryn should just retire already - his Great Inquisitor is nowhere near _bad_ , but he’s been singing it and similar roles for the last forty years or so, can’t he leave space to _someone else_? Or is he the only choice this entire company has? If he’s the _Commendatore_ again the next time Don Giovanni is staged, we’ll be fast asleep well before he dies.

As far as Robert Baratheon goes, he still can sing and he certainly has the presence, but he _could_ do with losing some weight and looking after himself a bit more. His ex-wife, though, while certainly having the presence and the voice, _definitely_ has made up half of the notes she sang - not that they were off-key, but they certainly were _not_ in the score, but they definitely are still sold singers, for what it’s worth.

Jeyne Westerling is way too immature for Verdi, if you ask me; maybe another ten years of working her way up the ladder would have made her ready. Of course, she’s very appropriate in her singing and doesn’t go off key or anything, but where’s the feeling? Where’s the dramatic soprano? Where’s the coloratura? If Montserrat Caballé wasn’t among us, she would also be rolling in her grave, and if she heard this, she wouldn’t appreciate.

Anyhow, it still would have been acceptable if not for the greatest waste of the entire production: Carlo and Rodrigo. Robb Stark is, admittedly, very good at the part and he certainly seemed like he enjoyed it, which can’t be said of about _anything_ he’s ever sang since he started taking lead roles, and Theon Greyjoy is without a doubt the best singer in the entire cast at least for _this_ specific role in _this_ specific production, but that ridiculous choice of making two men who are obviously _friends_ lovers, or wannabe lovers, is just another proof of how low opera has fallen these days. Never mind the overacting that these days _always_ comes into modern performances of _Dio che nell’alma infonde_ , Stark and Greyjoy upped that more than one notch: you _could_ definitely hear that it was some kind of psycho drama between a gay couple rather than two men pledging friendship as they are supposed to. Why can’t people these days just put emphasis on the music instead of pushing on the dramatic angle? And that’s without mentioning the ridiculous death scene in act three: Posa passionately kissing Carlo before dramatically dying was such a concentration of secondhand embarrassment that one felt like looking at a trainwreck instead of listening to such immortal music. All in all, the singers were capable, but the staging was absolutely a disaster and the gay couple drama interpretation should have never left academical debate, if you ask me. Twenty years ago, Jon Connington had _already_ pushed it way too much when looking at his singing partner as if _he_ had wished to ravage him rather than swear eternal friendship; but this time it’s just shameful.

All in all, a very poor performance: hopefully this season will be saved when in a few months Catelyn Stark brings back her sensible, impeccable and breathtaking _Lucia_ , and we’ll be able to finally listen to a _true_ singer and actress - probably the only one Tywin Lannister pays, anyway.

Alas, for how long will we have to endure these ridiculous modern takes on opera? I truly don’t know, but we should hope, _soon_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These notes don't have any specifics, but if anyone's wondering: both Varys's and LF's *magazines* are parodies of actual website that review operas online (in Italian though) and the comment about the psycho gay drama is not mine but I gracefully was quoting a not-so-nice YouTube reviewer who apparently really isn't into the homoerotic subtext interpretation. Sad! ;)
> 
> .... that said OKAY I'M DONE I HOPE Y'ALL ENJOYED THIS MONSTER I'll probably give it sequels at some point. /o\


End file.
